


From My Point of View

by ElanaBrooks



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-28
Updated: 2005-09-02
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9475361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElanaBrooks/pseuds/ElanaBrooks
Summary: Events of the Original Trilogy from Anakin!Darth Vader's point of view. The thoughts and feelings of the man inside the mask.





	1. A New Enemy

A tremor in the Force.

It brushes the edge of my mind while I am in the midst of questioning a subordinate about the captured freighter. The ship is empty, he tells me, abandoned, yet I feel a presence so familiar that for a nanosecond my instinct is to accept it without question, to welcome it. Then comes recognition, and with it confusion. "I sense something." The officer looks at me quizzically, but I ignore him. Surely it is impossible. "A presence I've not felt since…." Since a day of fire, terror, pain… death….

I turn away, reaching through the Force to renew that brief touch, but it is gone. He knows I am here, and is concealing himself from me. I stride through the corridors of the station, seeking with senses deeper than sight or hearing. There! I feel it again, stronger this time, nearer. I am sure, now. It can be no other.

Jumbled memories leap from the graves where they have lain buried and overwhelm me with a storm of battling emotions. Enemy, master, traitor, friend. The years I served at his side, and the unthinkable betrayal. Brother, he called me, as he left me to die. Twenty years, each breath burning with the echo of flame in my lungs. Each step stabbing with the pain of charred and blackened limbs.

From the maelstrom rage rises up victorious, hot and bitter in my throat. With the reflexive skill born of twenty years' experience, I slide down the channel of my anger into the cold calm power of the Force. It stills the storm in my mind and shows me the path I must follow.

He must have come as part of a Rebel plot, to retrieve the captured Senator, to bring her the stolen plans. But that is irrelevant. He is here so that I may finally make an end of him, and close the door of my past forever.

Tarkin is incredulous when I tell him. "Surely he must be dead by now."

No. I have always know he was out there, our final confrontation delayed, but inevitable. Weak as the Jedi are, deliberately shutting themselves off from the most potent aspects of the Force, still I know he could never succumb to the mere passage of time or to one of the infinite disasters that do away with lesser beings. "Don't underestimate the Force."

Still he does not believe me. "The Jedi are extinct. Their fire has gone out of the universe. You, my friend, are all that's left of their religion."

He thinks of the Force as little more than superstition and trickery. He will learn the truth. I see the fear in his eyes as he receives news of a disturbance near where the Senator is imprisoned. Even he cannot deny this proof. I relish his discomfiture as I drive the point home. "Obi-wan is here. The Force is with him."

But Tarkin is too skilled a player in the games of power to be distracted by a momentary disadvantage. "If you're right, he must not be allowed to escape."

"Escape is not his plan." No. Once he has disabled the tractor beam so his accomplices can flee, he will seek me out. He must feel as powerfully as I do the currents of Force, bright and dark, drawing us together. He will believe it is his hour, to finish the work he left undone when last we parted.

The Dark Side of the Force rises up within me, hungry for death.

"I must face him. Alone."

* * *

I wait, in the place to which the Force has led me, corridor empty at my command of the usual bustle of the station. All is ready. The homing beacon is in place aboard their ship; the fighters are scrambled, ready to make a token show of resistance. They will undoubtedly realize they are being followed, but in their arrogance they will lead us to the Rebel base nevertheless.

My light saber burns in my hand, its gentle pulsing buzz loud in my ears. Though my mask now blocks all sensation, I remember the feel of gentle radiance on my cheek, and its absence is an ache. I lower it to guard position, and stand, motionless.

He comes. Seeing me, he stops, wary.

Unseen behind my mask, I close my eyes. He is old. The familiar face is lined and weatherbeaten. I open my eyes and meet his gaze. He watches me without fear, only sadness, and a distant pity.

Stung, I move toward him, anger mounting. He will see there is no cause for pity, and much cause for fear. His light saber blossoms into being, rising between us.

"I've been waiting for you, Obi-wan." Waiting endless years, which now seem no time at all. It is as if we stand again on Mustafar, surrounded by pools of lava, the twenty years between no more than a breath. "We meet again, at last. The circle is now complete. When I left you, I was but the learner." _The Jedi council would not grant me the rank I deserved. You did not believe I was ready._ "Now I am the master."

"Only a master of evil, Darth."

_Evil! You speak of evil, you whose lies turned my beloved against me, who thought to trick me with her pleas, who provoked me into such a rage I lashed out against the one I gave everything to save! You dare to speak to me of evil!_ I strike out against him, and our sabers meet, hissing and spitting as they clash.

He twists away, and for a few moments we strike and parry in silence save for the shuffle of feet and the sputter of sabers. Neither of us is what we once were. He is slowed by age, and I by this metal and plastic shell that must serve me for a body. My clumsiness feeds my rage, which I welcome, for as my anger builds so does the power of the Force within me.

I renew my attack, and taunt him. "Your powers are weak, old man." Our sabers lock, crackling as their energy fields compete. That infuriating pity is still there in his eyes.

"You can't win, Darth. If you strike me down, I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine." His voice holds a grave certainty, beyond anything I have ever heard from him.

Almost I pause. What does he know, what could he have learned in the intervening years…? But that is nonsense. _Fool, there is nothing beyond death. If I strike you down, you shall be dead, and I shall have the victory._

My rasping inhalations quicken, my ravaged lungs straining to extract enough oxygen from the filtered and enriched air provided by my mask. I save my breath for fighting, but my mind continues to shout my litany of grievances against him. _You hunted me down to kill me. You took my legs from me, and my arm. You did not even have the courage to kill me cleanly, but instead left me to burn._

The Force flows through me, fed by my fury, speeding my reactions and strengthening my blows. He is tiring. Our sabers lock again, and I gloat, feeling my triumph approaching. "You should not have come back." His eyes meet mine, searchingly, but still he shows no sign of fear. My anger is redoubled, and I slash at him, his defense weakening with every strike.

Our battle has carried us down the corridor. An open door beside us looks out into the hanger where the captured ship waits. Once more our sabers lock, and his head turns. Following his glance through the open door, I see across the hanger a young man, clad in a dirty white tunic and leggings. He catches sight of us, startled, and starts to move this way.

I jerk my attention back to Obi-wan. He is still gazing intently at the boy. I prepare to take advantage of his distraction, drawing my saber back for a great spiraling blow. He looks at me, and even as I begin to swing he smiles, then composes himself in an attitude of meditation. He holds his light saber vertically in front of him, eyes closed, offering no resistance as my weapon whistles toward him. Exultation surges through me, swamping a tiny pang of… what? Regret, grief? My saber bites into his neck, severing it cleanly, and he falls, his robe billowing around him and sinking into a crumpled heap on the floor.

A cry of " _No_!" echoes across the hanger, and blaster bolts ricochet in my direction. But I am caught, stunned, staring at the pile of clothing at my feet, light saber hilt dead upon it. Unbelieving, I poke at it with a booted foot. No body, no blood, nothing save these empty robes to show that Obi-wan was ever here.

Can his presence have been nothing but an illusion, a trick? But I felt him so clearly in the Force. Surely that could not have been faked.

Continued blaster fire demands my attention, and I turn toward the door, saber raised to deflect the bolts of energy. It is that boy, in his stricken grief careless of his own safety, blasting indiscriminately toward me. There is something about him…. I move toward him, but his friends aboard the ship shout, and he aims a blast toward the door controls. The door irises shut before me, blocking my view. But as the last small opening in the center shrinks closed, I feel a surge in the Force, and the boy turns and runs aboard the ship.

The Force ebbs from my body, leaving me weak, and I lean against the door, gasping for breath. I stare at the empty pile of clothes, wondering.

At last I straighten. A few members of the station's staff gather around, uncertain whether to approach me. I gesture curtly at the pile. "Take them away. Disintegrate them." They hasten to do my bidding.

Whatever has happened to his body, Obi-wan is dead. Destroyed, defeated. His fire has gone out of the universe. Behind my mask my lips quirk in a wry, bitter smile at the memory of Tarkins's words. Now I truly am all that is left of the Jedi.

* * *

I watch the display.  
Rebel fighters swarm around the station, tiny ships, no threat  
whatsoever to the massive Death Star. I do not understand what they  
hope to accomplish. But still my pulse quickens at the thought of a  
fighter battle. Annoyance mounts as I watch our fighters miss easy  
shots, veer ridiculously wide, make mistake after mistake in pursuing  
the Rebel ships. I know I can do far better.

There, that is my chance. I gesture curtly to the two pilots I have handpicked and held in reserve. "Several fighters have broken off from the main group. Come with me."

We hurry to the fighter hanger. I strap my self into the seat of my specially modified TIE fighter. Tarkin will not like me lowering myself to join the combat personally. But I do not answer to Tarkin, only to my Master, and he indulges my taste for flying.

We take off, and I grin with delight. This is my native element. I never feel more alive than when I am behind the controls of a small craft, free to leap and soar and dive through space, Force flowing though me, enabling me to react to obstacles before I can even see them.

But we have business to attend to, so I focus on our foes, signaling my squadron to take up attack formation. The rebel ships dip into a long trough that scores the surface of the station. They fly along it, easily dodging the fire from the big, slow guns that line it.

I radio the main control room, commanding them to cease the gun's fire along the trough. Then I swoop down behind them, flanked on left and right by my attendants. The tight quarters are a welcome challenge, and the Rebel pilots are skilled, so I take great satisfaction as we shoot them down, one by one.

The three of us swoop up out of the trench in tight formation, searching for more Rebel fighters to engage. We don't have far to look. Here are another three, diving down to trace the same path along the trough. What is it about this trench? They act as if it is the location of some important strategic target, though I can see nothing they might be aiming for. No matter, the fighters themselves are my targets. I lock onto the one to the right and fire, my blasts streaking across space to strike the fighter, which explodes in a ball of flame.

My second claims the other flanking fighter, and I go after the leader. But before I can target him, he fires two torpedoes, then quickly pulls up. Flames erupt on the station's surface, much more than I would have expected from such a small impact.

I frown. This must be their target, then. The stolen plans must have revealed some vulnerability here. Very well. I will make sure they are not able to exploit it.

I swoop upward, following the fleeing leader. This one is skilled, and leads me an exhilarating chase, twisting and turning, skimming dangerously close to the station. But eventually I catch up to him, and with a roar of my guns his craft plows into the surface.

I nearly laugh aloud. This is the best flying I've done in years. Look, here comes another formation of three Rebel ships. You'd think they'd learn not to waste their effort.

These approach the trench at breakneck speed, seeking to outrun us. But the ragtag Rebel ships are no match for the Empire's technology, and we soon gain ground on them. One of my flanking pilots fires. A rebel ship is damaged, but not destroyed, falling back and up, away from the station. "Let him go. Stay on the leader." I take careful aim, then fire, and their second trailing ship explodes into smoke and scattered debris.

Only the leader is left, and I close in on him. This one flies with something like my own preternatural skill, dodging my blasts almost before I fire them. Curious, I reach out my senses, and feel a vivid bright presence in the Force at the controls of the Rebel ship. Even as I watch, the Force surges up even more strongly within him.

"The Force is strong in this one." In an earlier age he would have been identified as a child and trained as a Jedi. Now those born strong in the Force are left untrained, most never aware of their powers, except perhaps as a stronger than normal intuition, or quicker than normal reflexes. This one seems at least to have learned to use the Force in his flying.

Almost I regret the necessity of killing him, but his skill with the Force only increases the miniscule chance that he might actually hit whatever it is he's aiming at. I lock in on his ship and fire, but again he dodges, and my blast strikes only a glancing blow, damaging little other than his maintenance droid.

Again the Force surges within him. I am growing angry. He will not dodge me again. I call on the Dark Force, and sink into its embrace. "I have you now." The targeting computer locks onto his ship, and, Force guided, I fire.

My shot goes wide, and suddenly the fighter to my right bursts into a ball of flame. "What?" I cry. They have no other ships left! I twist around, trying to glimpse where the shots are coming from. A shape streaks out of the sun. Then the fighter to my left is hit and knocked sideways into mine.

My ship spins out of control, away from the station, toward empty space. I try frantically to reestablish my stability.

Behind me I feel a brilliant surge of Force, followed in an instant by a tremendous impact as a blast front rocks my little fighter, tossing it wildly though space. Incredulous, I strain to see. Where the Death Star hovered, nothing remains except a rapidly expanding ball of superheated gasses and tumbling, twisted debris.

Numb with shock, I labor automatically at the controls until I manage to restore my ship's stability. I aim it away from the planet Yavin. If I remember correctly, an Imperial base is located only a few star systems from here, but in this small craft it will take me days to get there. I activate my distress beacon, and lay in my course. Looking behind me one last time, I confirm that I am truly alone, the only survivor of the destruction.

Fury like none I have known before overwhelms me. Twenty years of hard labor, huge amounts of the Empire's resources, all the time and energy of countless of the Empire's best minds and talents, destroyed in an instant. The stolen plans must have revealed some fatal flaw after all, and the Rebels were able to find and exploit it.

My anger only grows during the two days until a patrol ship retrieves me. When I emerge, my rage is focused on two targets. The Senator who stole the deadly plans, and the unknown pilot, strong in the Force, who fired the final shot. I will find them, no matter how long it takes, and I will have my revenge.


	2. The Rebel Strikes Back

A junior officer approaches, nervous, as are all the personnel of this ship when forced to deal with me. I swivel my chair around to face him.

"Sir, the latest spy reports have arrived."

"Good. Send them to my computer." I swivel back to continue my inspection of my newly installed personal chamber. Thus far I am pleased with its design. It is equipped with all my exacting requirements. Positioned here aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer _Executor_ , it will allow me the privacy and facilities I need while permitting me flexibility to move about the galaxy as required.

"Sir." The officer peers between the crenellated teeth of the circular shell that surrounds me. "I believe that one report contains new information on the subject of your particular interest."

I snap around to look at him. The Rebel who destroyed the Death Star. The young officer quails before me.

"Excellent. You are dismissed." I turn immediately to my computer display, calling up the pertinent reports. It has not taken long, after all, for my spies to produce the information I seek. His name must have spread halfway across the galaxy by now, on the lips of the disaffected and traitorous.

The columns of text scroll across the screen, and I skim them intently, looking for the desired name. There.

My indrawn breath rasps in my ears, then is still.

_Skywalker._

It cannot be. The child died. My Master showed me the holos of the funeral on Naboo. Padmé's belly was still swollen with her pregnancy, an island rising from a sea of flowers.

I close my eyes, and swallow. My blackest shame. I have struggled to expel it from my mind, called on the Force to bury it beneath walls of iron and stone, yet still it whispers to me. _I killed her, and the child. I._

I inhale, fighting for equilibrium. Skywalker is a common name. Surely this is nothing but coincidence. Surely that bright, Force-gifted presence has no connection to me. At most, perhaps one of my mother's relations, a distant cousin of some sort. Not, most emphatically _not_ , that lost child, the news of whose existence lit Padmé's eyes and leapt in my heart, and set off the nightmarish chain of events that cost me all I once held dear.

I force myself to scroll back to the beginning of the report and read, absorbing the details with fanatic intensity. Luke, he is called. From – my breath grows ragged – Tatooine. My home world. I blink away visions of sand and sunsglare. Since the Death Star, he has established himself as the leader of the Rebel's Rogue Squadron, a unit that has done much damage to the Empire. His closest associates are a former smuggler from Corellia known as Captain Han Solo, and - here my eyes widen in surprise again – Princess, former Senator, Leia Organa, of Alderaan.

Included in the file is a hologram. My hands shake as I call it up on the display. Crude and grainy, taken from a great distance and enlarged, still I recognize him. The boy who was there at my final battle with Obi-wan, who cried out in grief at his death, who fled with the Princess and the stolen plans. Suddenly, a great deal makes sense. Obi-wan must have found him, and trained him. A new Jedi, to aid the Rebellion's cause against the Empire.

I search the distorted blue image, turning it from every angle, searching for any resemblance to Padmé or my own half remembered face. Perhaps….

_Did you steal my son from me too, Obi-wan?_ My eyes burn with unsheddable tears. There is only one way to find out.

I press the comlink control. "Admiral Ozzel." With gratifying alacrity he presents himself before me.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Admiral, I want probes. Blanket the galaxy. These Rebels have eluded us long enough. Send a probe to every star system from here to the Outer Rim, until they are found."

"But, but, my lord, it would take thousands!" Ozzel's eyes bug out unpleasantly as he stammers. "The cost… Are you sure the Emperor…"

"Admiral Ozzel, the Emperor has put me in charge of locating and destroying the Rebellion. I lose patience with these slow methods. Deploy the probe droids, immediately!" The admiral bobs his head, and nearly stumbles in his haste to retreat from me.

I call up the holo once more, and stare at it. With the probes, the Rebels' latest hideout will soon be discovered, and he will be captured and brought to me.

When he stands before me, and I look into his eyes, I will know.

* * *

I gaze out at a sea of stars. I remember when I was a child I looked up into Tatooine's sky and dreamed of visiting every star I could see. Now I know those stars were only a tiny fraction of all the stars in the Galaxy, and though I have seen many, I will never see them all. I remember the look Qui-Gon gave me, when I told him, indulging the foolish dream of a child. _You were as much a fool as I, Qui-Gon, for have not all our dreams proved as empty and impossible as that one?_

Behind me a hushed babble of voices rise from the monitoring station. I listen, and catch a few words. "…the Hoth system is supposed to be devoid of human lifeforms…."

Hoth….

I approach the cluster of officers. "You found something?"

"Yes, m'lord." Admiral Ozzel squirms. He knows I know he was about to dismiss the new information as worthless. He gestures to the screen, where a holo transmission from one of the probe droids is displayed. Four curved structures rise out of a field of snow, the cooling towers of an underground power generator much larger than any legitimate settlement should require.

A profound certainty I know can come only from the Force fills me. "That's it. The Rebels are there."

Admiral Ozzel, trying to cover up his nearly disastrous error, blurts, "My Lord, there are so many uncharted settlements. It could be smugglers, it could be –"

"That is the system." Ozzel is becoming an increasingly obnoxious irritation to me. How a man of his obvious lack of talent has managed to rise through the ranks of the Imperial military is a mystery. Another of his stupid errors and I will be forced to take matters into my own hands and deal with him directly. "And I'm sure Skywalker is with them. Set your course for the Hoth system." I turn my back on him. "General Veers." Veers at least is reasonably capable. His ground troops will be vital in the assault on the Rebel base. "Prepare your men."

I retreat to my chamber, settle into my chair, and press the button to close and seal my shell around me. One sort of tension, that of the constant need to project to the world an aura of cold ruthless power, drops away, only to be replaced by another. I tap out the sequence that will begin my maintenance cycle. Only here, shut safely away from prying eyes, can my bodily needs be attended to. My authority would be destroyed if any of my subordinates were to become aware of the humiliations to which I must daily submit.

My chair reclines, and droid hands emerge all around me. I have cultivated the image of inhuman perfection so well I know those around me wonder if in fact I am a droid myself, but I know all too well that within my imposing black armor frail human flesh remains. With perfect impersonality, the mechanical hands strip away my protective coverings and begin their varied tasks of tending me. Nutrient solution is pumped through a tube directly to my stomach, bypassing my scarred and useless esophagus. Bodily wastes are removed from their reservoirs, which are cleaned and disinfected. Each of my prostheses is carefully checked to ensure all connections are intact and functioning properly, and any small repairs necessary are made. My skin is bathed, deodorized, and depilated. As helpless as an infant I lie, eyes closed, enduring their ministrations.

At last comes the moment I dread most. I draw a deep breath to fortify myself, but still as my mask is removed I experience a sensation of smothering. I pant, but my body slowly starves of oxygen in the few minutes it takes for my face and mouth to cleansed, and all the biomechanical connections to be maintained. My lids are closed, but still the unfiltered light hurts my overly sensitive eyes. Finally the mask descends again, and I gasp, the loud rasp of my air filter a welcome accompaniment to the ability to breathe again. My suit is sealed once more around me, and I am returned to a vertical position. Last of all my helmet slides into place to protect the back of my head, and once again I am whole, invulnerable.

I call up the latest reports on my terminal to study. In only a few hours I feel the subtle shift in the vibration of the ship's engines as we transition from hyperspace back into normal space. I touch the controls of my chamber, and it opens. Moments later, General Veers approaches.

"What is it, General?"

"My lord, the fleet has moved out of lightspeed. ComScan has detected an energy field protecting an area of the sixth planet of the Hoth system. The field is strong enough to deflect any bombardment."

Anger flares up within me at Admiral Ozzel's stupidity. Has the man no grasp of basic military strategy? How could the Rebels possibly miss us, springing into existence on their very doorstep? We should have slipped into normal space several systems away, approached the planet on an indirect route, taken advantage of the cover of planet, sun and moons, and been upon them before they even knew we were within a thousand parsecs. Now they are shielded against us, and our task has been made twice as difficult. I should not have to explain this to the Admiral, as if he were a first-year student at the Academy.

This is the last time. I will not tolerate his incompetence any longer. He has put my capture of young Skywalker in jeopardy. He will pay the price.

"The Rebels are alerted to our presence. Admiral Ozzel came out of lightspeed too close to the system."

Veers hears the resolve in my voice, and feels compelled to defend his fellow officer, though he shrinks back in fear of me. "He…he felt surprise was wiser – "

I do not let him finish. "He is as clumsy as he is stupid. General, prepare your troops for a surface attack." _If we must do this the hard way, let us set about it immediately._

"Yes, my lord." Veers nods, and departs.

I swivel around in my chair and call up a viewscreen. On the bridge, Ozzel, unsuspecting, turns to face my image. "Lord Vader. The fleet has moved out of lightspeed and we're preparing to-"

I reach out through the Force and grip his throat, crushing it closed. His eyes bug out farther than ever and he reaches to claw the invisible hands from around his neck. Satisfaction fills me.

"You have failed me for the last time, Admiral. Captain Piett."

The captain snaps to attention. "Yes, my lord." I take pleasure in his distress, his eyes sliding sideways to take in the form of the slowly strangling Ozzel.

"Make ready to land our troops beyond their energy field and deploy the fleet so that nothing gets off the system. You are in command now, _Admiral_ Piett."

Beside Piett, Ozzel slumps dead to the ground. Piett's eyes are full of apprehension as he replies, "Thank you, Lord Vader." His eyes flick to Ozzel's dead form; then he gestures to others to take the body away.

_You are right to fear me, Piett. If you fail me, you will share his fate._

I feel strong and good, the Dark Side of the Force full and satisfied within me. I call up an image of the planet beneath us, and reach my senses out toward it. He is there; I feel him. Soon he will be mine.

* * *

I stalk the corridors of the Rebels' base, senses straining, questing for my prey. There, a familiar touch in the Force, concealed, but not well enough, aboard that freighter. It is the last of their ships left on the planet; all the others have managed to escape, blasting up past that cursed shield and vanishing into hyperspace. But he was not aboard any of them, nor the fighters that escorted them, so he must still be here, somewhere.

I hurry toward the freighter, studying the subtle Force signature. I am increasingly sure it is not his; yet I know it. The engines whine as I approach, and before I can reach it the ship lifts upward, pivots, and rockets toward space.

Dismissing it, I throw my search wider. Nothing, nothing… Ah, I have found him. Even as I turn to make my way toward him, I am scrutinizing my awareness of him. Bright and strong, just as I remember. I search for any hint of the truth of his identity. _Are you the one I think you may be? Do I hope you are, or fear it…?_

No! His presence launches upward, streaks overhead, then is gone. I stand, fists clenched at my side, consumed by frustrated rage. This assault is a complete fiasco. All the Rebels have escaped, and now Skywalker, too, is gone.

I storm back to my shuttle, spitting out the order to launch. By the time we arrive back at the _Executor_ , I have mastered my anger. Most of the commotion of battle has died down, but on the bridge a cluster of officers still gather around the command center. Piett straightens up and approaches me, grim resolve almost concealing his terror.

"My lord, all but one of the Rebel vessels has escaped into hyperspace."

Startled, I focus on him. "One remains?" _Piett, I may let you live after all…_

"Yes, my lord. One Rebel ship is still in the system, although so far its evasive maneuvers have allowed it to evade capture. Intelligence indicates that it is the _Millennium Falcon_ , under Captain Han Solo. We surmise that its hyperdrive may be malfunctioning. With it confined to normal space, we expect to capture it shortly." Piett swallows nervously.

I look at the tactical display. An image of a freighter hovers there. I recognize it. The last ship to take off from Hoth, the same freighter captured on the Death Star. Captain Han Solo, young Skywalker's friend. And now, my mind making connections in a cascade of revelations, I recognize the subtle Force signature I felt aboard the ship. The Princess, her mind familiar to me from my attempts to probe her on the Death Star.

Skywalker's two closest friends are aboard that freighter.

"Admiral Piett, I will be in my chamber. Report to me any further news of the _Millennium Falcon_."

Sealed within my chamber, I open my mind to a memory long suppressed. My mother's face, twisted with agony, crying out. Her pain an irresistible summons, calling me across the galaxy to her side.

Soon Skywalker's friends will be in my power. He will feel their pain, like a wound in the Force. Wherever he has fled he will sense it. If he is truly my son, if he has inherited anything from me at all, he will not be able to resist coming to their aid. Even if he suspects it is a trap, the bait will be too much for him to withstand, and he will come.

I will be waiting for him.

* * *

My maintenance cycle whirrs to a close. When I open my eyes, I notice my shell has opened prematurely. I frown as my helmet is lowered over my head. I will have to examine the circuitry and locate the malfunction.

Swiveling my chair around, I see Piett, standing at patient attention. Momentarily, I freeze. What has he seen? But his face is schooled into an expression of perfect indifference, and I am eager for the news he bears, so I choose to ignore the mishap.

"Yes, Admiral?"

"Our ships have sighted the _Millennium Falcon_ , lord, but it has entered an asteroid field, and we cannot risk –"

An asteroid field? This Captain Solo is bold. But if they die, their ship crushed by hurtling chunks of rock, they will not serve my purpose, and Skywalker will be lost to me.

"Asteroids do not concern me, Admiral. I want that ship, not excuses."

"Yes, lord."

I slam my fist down on the control and my chamber closes. They must be taken alive. I reach out in the Force, not hoping to feel much over this distance, but I sense her, faint but definitely there. The Force latent within her must be stronger than I had realized. I fix her presence in my mind, alert to any change.

I call up the spy reports I studied earlier on my terminal. I remember something in the dossier on Captain Solo. Yes, here it is. In his career as a smuggler, before joining the Rebellion, Captain Solo had a falling out with an employer, Jabba the Hutt. The dispute escalated, and resulted in the Hutt placing a spectacularly large price on his head. My eyes widen when I see the figure. For that sum, every bounty hunter in the galaxy must know Solo's name.

I am well familiar with the Hutt from my childhood on Tatooine. They do not forgive nor forget. If I want Solo, I had better find him quickly, before some bounty hunter beats me to my prey.

An idea glimmers. I call up the charts of our position. Yes, we are fairly close to the Bompa System, no more than a few hours at lightspeed. There is a city there, on its fifth planet, which is well known for its Underworld district. All sorts of lowlife characters hang out there, smugglers, drug runners, assassins… bounty hunters.

My own men have proven ineffectual in their pursuit of this Rebel criminal. Though what the bounty hunters do is only quasi-legal, their skill is legendary. With a tip from me as to Solo's recent presence here, one of them may well be able to accomplish what Imperial troops cannot.

I quickly compose an invitation, and dispatch it to the Imperial outpost on Bompa. They will disseminate it through the appropriate local channels, and with any luck it will receive a quick response. I send word to the docking bay official to welcome the bounty hunters' ships as they appear, and to make our guests comfortable until I am ready to call upon their services. Somewhat mollified, I close down my terminal and leave my chamber for the bridge.

Tiny shudders wrack the fabric of the ship as asteroids bombard it. Large as it is, each individual strike can do only minimal harm, but if we stay long within the field the damage will accumulate enough to become significant. The vibrations travel up through my booted soles, stimulating the nerve receptors in my prostheses into an unpleasant jangling buzz, throwing my sense of balance into disequilibrium.

At the bridge, I move to the main holoscreen and order the captains of the fleet to make their reports. Their images appear, crackling with static from the field's interference. Captain Needa, of the _Avenger_ , takes the lead. "A number of my fighters have been destroyed pursuing the _Millennium Falcon_. We tracked it as it flew close to a large asteroid, but then lost the signal. And that, Lord Vader, was the last time they appeared in any of our scopes." Beside him another Captain's image flickers and disappears, as the transmitter on his ship is knocked offline. "Considering the amount of damage we've sustained, they must have been destroyed." His face does not betray his anxiety, but I know he must be desperate to take his ship out of the asteroid field, feeling each strike like a blow to his own body.

Her presence is still there in my mind. "No, Captain, they're alive. I want every ship available to sweep the asteroid field until they are found." They incline their heads to me and I cut off the screen.

Piett approaches me. "Lord Vader."

His voice is tense. I wonder impatiently what new difficulty has arisen. "Yes, Admiral, what is it?"

"The Emperor commands you to make contact with him."

Cold like deep space floods me. What can my Master want with me? This sort of command is nearly unprecedented. Still, obedience must be immediate and perfect. "Move the ship out of the asteroid field so that we can send a clear transmission." I turn away, barely aware of his acknowledgement of my order.

This must concern young Skywalker. I have allowed my personal interest in him to overwhelm my responsibility to the Empire, and distract me from my core purpose of defeating the Rebellion. I did not report my suspicions immediately to my Master, but instead concealed them from him. I have spent the Empire's resources profligately in his pursuit.

If he is my son, if Obi-Wan trained him as a Jedi, then he is a threat to the Empire, and to the Emperor. My Master will want him eliminated. My breath rasps in my ears.

My child, and Padmé's. Alive, when I thought him lost all these years.

Dare I set my will against my lord and Master?

Mind in turmoil, I step onto the transmission circle, sink to one knee, and bow my head. The air above me shimmers, and his image sharpens into existence. It looms above me. I look upward into his face. Once I trusted and respected this man, and believed he cared for me. But over the years I have grown to realize that any concern for me was only a sham. It has been long since there ceased to be anything between us but power and submission. "What is thy bidding, my Master?"

His voice is cool, impersonal. "There is a great disturbance in the Force."

It is as I feared. "I have felt it." I gather the Force around me as a shield, lest he read the secret rebellion in my heart.

"We have a new enemy… the young Rebel who destroyed the Death Star." His eyes bore into me, studying my reaction to his words. "I have no doubt this boy is the offspring of Anakin Skywalker."

Though a part of me has known since first I saw his name, this confirms it beyond any doubt. _He is. He is my son._ Though my master maintains the fiction between us that Anakin Skywalker was some other man, a man long dead, I know his words are meant as daggers to wound me. But how can he be so certain? Suspicion flares. Can he have known all along my son lived, and kept the knowledge from me?

My voice trembles, try as I might to control it. I must feign surprise. "How is that possible?"

"Search your feelings, Lord Vader. You will know it to be true." Yes, I know it to be true. I remember the feel of her round belly under my hand, the child within dancing against my palm. "He could destroy us."

He fears my son. He fears me. He fears I feel some loyalty to my son, that my bond to him might prove stronger than my oath to Master and Emperor.

_He is right to fear me._

Perhaps I can persuade him my son is no threat. "He's just a boy. Obi-wan can no longer help him."

But my Master knows better. "The Force is strong with him. The son of Skywalker must not become a Jedi." He watches me, implacable.

My mind races. There is another tack I might try, a desperate gamble. My own life will lie in hazard on the table, forfeit if the game goes against me.

I phrase my words carefully. "If he could be turned, he would become a powerful ally."

I know there can be only two Sith. I am not my Master's first apprentice. He does not hesitate to sacrifice one, if another of more utility to him presents himself. I remember Dooku's look of shocked betrayal as Palpatine ordered me to kill him. This is what I am offering. If my son turns to the Dark Side of the Force, only one of us can remain to serve my Master.

Unless, of course, we join forces, and overthrow him. Then I could train him as my apprentice, teach him all the ways of the Force, keep him forever by my side. The galaxy could be ours. _Are you willing to take the wager? A chance for a young, strong apprentice, against a possibility of betrayal and defeat?_

He eyes me, speculatively. "Yes…. " It amuses him that I have revealed my feelings and intentions so completely. He does not consider me a serious threat, even in league with my son. He feels he has nothing to lose. A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. "He would be a great asset. Can it be done?"

Can it? Obi-Wan will have indoctrinated him thoroughly into the Jedi mythos, with its taboo against any dealings with the Dark Side. He will be reluctant to accept my revelation of it as a legitimate road to power. He will fight me; he will bend all his young power in the Force to my defeat. He will hate me.

But it is the only way I can see that he can live.

"He will join us or die, Master."

_Don't make me kill you, my son._

_My son. My son._

* * *

These bounty hunters are a disreputable bunch, a motley assortment of seedy humans and aliens of every variety. They blot the pristine order of the _Executor's_ deck. Viewing their ranks, I am reminded forcibly of the streets of Mos Espa. I feel the grit of sand, smell the stink of Bantha dung. I thought I had long escaped having to deal with this kind of scum.

I walk among them as I give my instructions. "There will be a substantial reward for the one who finds the _Millennium Falcon_. You are free to use any methods necessary, but I want them alive." One shifts at these words. I look at him closely. He understands as well as I the usefulness of a mask to conceal thoughts and emotions, but the pitch of his shoulders and tilt of his head betray his dissatisfaction. I fix him with my stare. "No disintegrations."

He nods insolently. "As you wish." But I know he will obey. Payment is his only goal, which will be forfeit if he ignores my instructions.

Piett appears behind me, radiating relief and excitement beneath his thin veneer of military discipline. "Lord Vader. My Lord, we have them."

I follow him to the main tactical display, dismissing the now extraneous bounty hunters from my thoughts. There is the tiny blip that marks the _Millennium Falcon_ , swooping dangerously close to the _Avenger_. I hold my breath as they twist and tumble, terrified lest the pilot miscalculate and crash or my men forget their orders and fire. But no, now their image has vanished into the bulky form of the _Avenger_. Needa must have caught them with a tractor beam and drawn them into the docking bay.

I have them. Now all that remains is to prepare to carry out my plan. How might it best be done, to make the signal of their pain clear and sharp, yet not damage them unduly in case I must continue longer than I anticipate? I sort through the myriad of methods at my disposal. And how best to lay the trap for Skywalker, so that when he comes, he finds not his friends, but me?

Captain Needa sends word he will come to the _Executor_ in his shuttle, to make his report in person. I wait, eager to receive the captives he will undoubtedly bring with him. Needa is a good and reliable officer, excellent both at following my orders and using his own initiative to carry out independent actions. I will be sure he is suitably rewarded for this success. Perhaps I should consider him for promotion if the opportunity arises.

Needa approaches me where I stand on the bridge. He is alone. A chill of foreboding washes over me. He faces me forthrightly, eyes meeting mine with level steadiness, but there is some trace of terror within his resolve, and suddenly I dread his words. "Captain Needa, your report."

He swallows. "Lord Vader, I accept full responsibility for my failure. The _Millennium Falcon_ has again evaded capture. We were on top of them, moments from locking our tractor beam on them, when they… vanished. I have no explanation or excuse. I sincerely apologize that I have failed y…"

I scarcely hear his words, so deluged am I by crashing waves of rage. Skywalker's friends were within my grasp, and he has let them slip away again! I slam my mind into the depths of the Force, seize killing power, and jerk a tight knot of it about Needa's throat. I take pleasure in watching him gasp out his last remnants of life. So shall end all who fail me.

"Apology accepted, Captain Needa." I signal, and underlings come to haul the body away.

I glower around the bridge, and everyone bends with a show of intense concentration to their assigned tasks. Already I feel a pang of regret for my impetuous action. The fleet will be weaker without Needa's experienced hand at the helm of the _Avenger_. Again I have allowed my personal feelings to cloud my judgment and distract me from my responsibility. My anger at myself and at the universe radiates from me, and my subordinates cower from my dangerous unpredictability.

I stalk over to where Piett is receiving reports. He straightens to attention. "Lord Vader, our ships have completed their scan of the area and found nothing. If the _Millennium Falcon_ went into light speed, it will be on the other side of the galaxy by now."

That must be what happened. They must have repaired their hyperdrive during their hours in hiding. Realistically, our chances of finding them now are almost zero. But I refuse to show my despair. "Alert all commands. Calculate every possible destination along their last known trajectory." He knows and I know this is a useless exercise. The most basic of evasive maneuvers, no more than dropping briefly back into normal space and changing direction, and they can evade this search.

But Piett is not about to contradict me. "Yes, my lord. We'll find them."

His groveling annoys me. Yet how can I expect aught but craven submissiveness, if I deal out death as a reward for courage? But this is the gambit I have chosen, and I must play it out to the end. Any hesitation will be interpreted as weakness. I fix Piett with my stare. "Don't fail me again, _Admiral_." I draw out his title, emphasizing it just enough to remind him of the circumstances of his promotion to that rank. He swallows, understanding me perfectly.

My chamber is a welcome refuge. As the shell closes around me I slump forward, propping my head on my hands. The stresses of the day have left me drained and exhausted. The dull background of pain that is my constant companion has sharpened until I can scarcely focus my attention on anything else. Even my anger, which would give me an easy path into the Force to calm and center myself, has deserted me, leaving nothing but a sluggish depression. Tiredly, I begin the first steps of the most basic meditation ritual. Perhaps if I can manage to sleep for a few hours, I will be able to face the prospect of beginning the whole process of search and pursuit over again with some sort of energy and enthusiasm. But for now I long for a space of oblivion, where I need not think or feel.

As my heart rate and breathing slow, I feel the tiny vibrations of the ship preparing for the transition to lightspeed, then the indefinable pulling sensation as we cross the boundary into hyperspace. I recline my chair to my sleeping position and dim the lights. If only the nightmares will stay away long enough for me to rest just a little.

I am drifting slowly into unconsciousness, nearly asleep, when an insistent beeping rouses me. I open my eyes and see a light flashing on my comconsole. Cursing, I reach over and slap the controls, activating voice transmission only. "What is it?"

"Lord Vader, one of the bounty hunters has made contact with us. He insists he will speak only to you. Should I put the transmission through to you now, or inform him you will contact him at your convenience?"

I am already uprighting my chair. "Put it through now." I almost forgot the bounty hunters. Could one of them have come through for me after all?

His voice is scratchy with the characteristic distortion of a transmission from normal space to hyperspace, but I recognize it. The masked one. "Lord Vader, this is Boba Fett. I've found Solo's ship. He's still in normal space, not far from where you lost him. I've tracked him for a while now, and I believe his destination is the Bespin system. Do you want me to apprehend him now, or continue tracking him?"

I call up a star chart. Bespin is located fairly close, but in almost the opposite direction we are currently heading. "Just keep following them. Don't do anything to let them know you're there. I will take the fleet to Bespin. How long do you estimate it will take them to get there?"

"If they continue in normal space, a few days."

"At lightspeed we can be there well before they arrive. Maintain your pursuit and notify me at once if they change course or go to lightspeed."

"Acknowledged."

Before he even finishes the word, I cut off his signal, and open a channel to the bridge. "Admiral Piett, reverse course immediately. Take us to the Bespin system."

All weariness has fallen away. My quarry is again within my sight.

* * *

I stand on the viewing deck of my shuttle, watching out the wide portal as we descend into Bespin's atmosphere. Swirling masses of cloud spread out beneath us. The slanting rays of Bespin's sun tint the spun sugar billows in myriad shades of rose and gold. Then, through a break in the clouds, I glimpse the city that is our goal, a silver disk floating almost weightlessly in the sky, supported by no more than a single slender spire.

I catch my breath at the exquisiteness of the skyscape before me. How long has it been since I noticed beauty, or appreciated it? Unbidden, a thought steals into my consciousness. _Padmé would have loved it._

Recklessly I allow her image to form in my imagination, standing beside me, gazing out the portal. I can envision the quirk of her smile, the light in her eyes, can hear the delight in her voice. _Ani, it's so beautiful…_ I can see the silken ropes of her hair, twining about the alabaster column of her neck…

I can feel her throat caught in the vise of my fist, crushing the breath from her lungs, can feel my rage thrusting through the Force, violating her body, searching out every last spark of life to extinguish it… I stagger, shaken, and fight to suppress the memory, to force it back down behind the barriers I have built, to slam the door again on the anguish of my guilt. This is why I must never think of her, must blot out even the tiniest recollection of my beloved whom I destroyed.

"Lord Vader?" The shuttle pilot's voice is hesitant, and I think he must have already repeated my name several times.

I turn, as calmly as I can, and force the rasp of my breath to slow. "What is it?"

"My lord, we will be landing momentarily. The administrator of the city will be there to meet with you upon our arrival, as you ordered."

"Good." My steps are heavy as I return to my seat. If my plan works, soon I will be meeting her son, somewhere down there. Will he seek revenge for his mother's murder? I might be compelled to take his throat too in my hand, and choke out breath and life. I do not know if I am strong enough to face that eventuality.

I must call upon my anger, use my rage, fill myself with all the power the Dark Side of the Force can give me. Only then will I be able to do what I must.

* * *

"Lord Vader, we are honored to welcome such a distinguished representative of the Empire." The administrator of Cloud City offers an elaborate bow. "My name is Lando Calrissian. I offer you the full hospitality of my city for as long as you may wish to stay with us."

He does an excellent job of dissembling, but I can detect an undercurrent of apprehension. Well should he be afraid. During our journey here I studied the Empire's records concerning Bespin and Cloud City. The gas mining operation that is the reason for this city's existence derives most of its income from illegal trade. By keeping the business fairly small and paying well-placed bribes, Calrissian has managed to avoid making himself enough of a problem for us to bother shutting him down. But I have enormous leverage in dealing with him. He will agree to whatever I demand.

He ushers us in to a luxuriously appointed receiving room, and offers us refreshment. I signal my retinue that they may partake, and wait, impassive, while food and drink is served and consumed. I have participated in many official functions of this sort, and have inured myself to watching others enjoy pleasures lost to me. _The sensation of cool water flowing over my lips and down my throat. The crunch of crisp vegetables between my teeth. The rich heady scent of wine. The warmth of spices on my tongue. Gone, all gone beyond any hope of recovery._

As soon as formality permits, I turn to Calrissian. "The Empire has taken an interest in your enterprise here, Calrissian. Your business appears to be quite successful. However, certain irregularities have come to my attention."

Under his dark complexion, Calrissian goes pale. "My lord, I assure you everything is perfectly in order. If you wish, I can show you extensive documentation of all our dealings, all completely approved by the Empire through the proper channels…"

"Save your breath, Calrissian. I have no wish to shut your operation down. The Empire is quite willing to overlook any minor transgressions you may have committed. All we require is your willing service in a small matter that has arisen."

Still rebellious, but resigned, Calrissian nods. "What do you ask of us, Lord Vader?"

"As we speak, a ship is approaching your planet. When they arrive, you will welcome all aboard into the city, and then escort them to where I am waiting. This room will do nicely. You will turn them over to me. You will allow me the use of all your facilities for as long as I may require them."

He is willing, but wary. "What ship is this? Who's aboard her? And why do you want them?"

"The ship is the _Millennium Falcon_. She is piloted by Captain Han Solo, and I believe with him is Princess Leia Organa. As to why I want them, that is none of your concern."

"The _Millennium Falcon_?" Surprise lights his face. "But that was my… And Han…" He snaps his mouth shut. For a long moment he considers. Finally, he turns back to me. "Han Solo is an old friend of mine. I am very reluctant to betray him."

"May I remind you that the Imperial Fleet is orbiting the planet as we speak. If you are not willing to cooperate, I will have to proceed without your cooperation. I do not think you or your city would find that an appealing prospect. In any case, I will only require Captain Solo's services for a short time."

"After that, you will release him to my custody? And the others?"

"That may be possible."

"And in return, the Empire will leave Cloud City alone from now on? No interference in our affairs at all?"

I incline my head. "Do we have a deal?"

I can tell he still doesn't trust me, but he nods. "It's a deal."

"Good. Then I wish to be given a tour of all your facilities immediately."

* * *

I walk behind the guide Calrissian has assigned me, mostly ignoring his tourist propaganda spiel, eyes busily assessing each space as he leads me through the city. The public areas are unsuitable for my plans, but I grow more interested as we enter the industrial section. We ride a lift up to a large, round, multilevel room, and I sweep it with my glance. A carbon freezing facility. This could well serve, and solve a problem that has been troubling me at the same time.

My master expects me to bring my son to him. I will attempt to deal with him myself, but he will not turn lightly or easily, and I have no experience in these matters. I may well need my master's aid. The journey to Coruscant will not take long, no more than a few days, but my son is gifted with the Force, and it will be no small task to keep him captive until we arrive. The risk of escape would be great. But if he were to be placed in deep hibernation, encased in carbonite, he would be powerless to act.

I leave my guide in the midst of a speech extolling the virtues of Cloud City's technology, and approach the operator of the machinery as he works the controls. "Could this chamber be modified to place a human in carbon hibernation?"

He tilts his head to the side, considering. "Well, the technology is essentially the same, although we've never used it for anything of that nature. Still, it wouldn't take too much effort. Could be dangerous, though; this equipment wasn't manufactured with nearly the quality they use in the hibernation facilities."

My decision is made. "You will do so. I will provide any men and equipment you might need. It must be completed by tomorrow. I will return to inspect the modifications then."

All is as ready as I can make it. I prowl around the chamber for a while, studying the layout and footing, that I may have the advantage of familiarity with the ground when we come to combat. Soon I am informed that the _Millennium Falcon_ has landed, and Calrissian is holding Solo and the Princess until I am ready.

I go to the reception room. Fett is there before me. I owe him much. "You have done well. I will have the agreed upon payment transferred to your account."

"And Solo?"

"You may have him once I have finished my business with him." I gesture for him to conceal himself out of view from the entrance. The table has been spread with all the trappings of a formal reception. Appreciating the irony, I seat myself at the head, the welcoming host.

Soon I hear footsteps and voices outside the room. The doors slide open. I rise to greet my guests.

The princess I know well, from her time as prisoner aboard the Death Star, and before that from the Senate. The man with her must be Captain Solo. They have a Wookiee with them as well – that must be Solo's partner and copilot. He makes one of those unintelligible Wookiee noises. Solo, seeing me, draws a blaster and fires. But I have anticipated him, and am prepared. I send Force flowing through my prosthetic hands, and shatter the blaster bolts into fountains of harmless sparks. A quick reach through the Force, and the blaster flies to my hand. The three Rebels look bewildered, and afraid. I gesture to the seats around the long table. "We would be honored if you would join us." Behind them, my Stormtroopers step into view from where they have waited concealed. Boba Fett steps from the shadows and stands beside me, weapon ready.

Calrissian flinches back from the outraged glare Solo aims at him. "I had no choice." His eyes plead for sympathy. "They arrived right before you did. I'm sorry." I must watch him carefully. He has entirely too much interest in my captives.

Solo and the princess look at each other, then back at Calrissian. Solo speaks for them both. "I'm sorry, too." But there is no trace of sorrow in his voice, only resigned anger. The Wookiee bleats more gibberish. As Solo and the princess step reluctantly across the threshold, eyes fixed on me, his hand reaches out to meet hers, reaching for him, and they twine their fingers together, each taking comfort from the other's strength.

I stare at those clasped hands, at the way they stand just a little closer together than mere companionship would dictate. I reach out to sense the emotional current between them, and am almost burned by the intensity of the sparks crackling from one to the other. They are lovers! New and as yet unconsummated, their sexual tension flames so bright it scarcely takes the Force to sense it. For a moment I smile at the thought of the gleeful malice with which the scandalmongers and gossips of Coruscant society would greet this development. Then I realize how I can use this in my plan. Emotional pain will focus and magnify the physical pain, for what one experiences, the other will feel doubly and triply.

The princess looks up at me with her usual insolent defiance. She turns her head to Solo, though her eyes stay locked on me. "Your friend Lando should hire an exterminator. His city seems to have become infested with Gredularoidian cockroaches."

"I am pleased to see you have lost none of your acid wit, Princess." I probe her, looking for the Force signature I sensed during the pursuit. Yes, there it is, subtle and easily overlooked, but distinct. I wonder how I missed feeling it when I held her captive before. Could her association with my son have strengthened her latent Force abilities? But there is no indication she has any conscious awareness of their presence, or any hint of how to make use of them.

"You should know by now, Vader, that you'll get nothing of any value from me." The shield of her bravado is nearly perfect. Only a tiny trace of her fear leaks through.

"On the contrary, Princess, you will provide me with exactly what I need." I turn to the stormtroopers beside me. "Take the Princess to –"

"Now wait a minute." Solo shoulders his way in front of the Princess. "Listen, Vader, you don't need to mess with her." He flashes me an ingratiating grin. "I know everything she does. Let's keep this between the men." The princess glares at him, outraged at his interference. His grin fades, but his earnest eyes never leave mine. "Just take me, alright? Leave her alone."

I hold myself very still, lest I betray how deeply his words have touched me. I know too well what it is like, to love a woman enough to sell my life for hers.

"So be it." She will still suffer, if she truly loves him.

My orders are carried out swiftly. The princess is taken to one room that has been converted to a holding cell, the Wookiee to another. On the off chance my son has formed emotional ties to the Wookiee as well, I arrange to intermittently pipe high pitched sound into his room. It should be intolerable to a Wookiee's sensitive hearing.

Solo's torture I supervise personally. I have decided to use certain drugs, which increase the subject's sensitivity to pain a hundredfold. Once he has been injected, it is a simple matter of subjecting him to various small hurts, not enough to cause any permanent damage, but magnified in his perception beyond the suffering of the most brutal bodily injuries.

His face twists into a grimace of endurance as the torture proceeds. He is brave, but his terror bubbles just below the surface. Suddenly I find I cannot watch any longer. I feel no satisfaction at his pain, only a faint sickness. I wonder, for the first time, what my son will think of my actions. He will hate me, of course. But that is good. The greater his hate, the easier it will be to turn him to the Dark Side. And once he turns, he will realize it was necessary. His loyalty will be to me, then, not to these friends of his.

Perhaps I will order him to kill them, to seal his bond to the Dark. Was that not how my Master initiated me? He set me first to a task I would previously have found repugnant, a task I must drown myself deeply in the Dark Side to be able to bear. To be able to see the necessity, regrettable perhaps, but inevitable. The Jedi Order had become corrupt, had betrayed their loyalty to the Republic, and all who were touched by their taint must be eliminated. It was not my Master's fault or mine that they chose to take in children, to begin their training when they were no more than infants in their cradles. Their deaths were quick and merciful. And if their wide, terrified eyes still haunt my nightmares, it is only evidence that I have not yet succeeded in excising the last traces of my early conditioning. But my Master knew that such a deed would bind my oath as mere words never could. For from the moment I carried out his orders, my path was irrevocably set, and there was no turning back.

Behind me, Solo's screams ring out. I call on the Force to deafen my ears and harden my heart.

* * *

Fett is anxious for the bounty on Solo from the Hutt, and Calrissian has quibbles about the deal we have made. I deal with their petty complaints automatically, my mind focused on my goal.

The hours drag with agonizing slowness. I return to my chamber aboard the _Executor_ for my maintenance cycle and a few hours of restless sleep. Then I return to the city, ordering the fleet to conceal themselves well away from the planet.

I go again to the carbon freezing facility. The modifications have been completed on schedule. They are crude, but should be adequate. As I inspect it, one of my officers approaches me. "Lord Vader, ship approaching, X-wing class."

So soon! My heart races, but I discipline my voice to calmness. "Good. Monitor Skywalker and allow him to land."

My plan has worked. He will be here within the hour. I stare into the central pit, panic gripping me. What if it malfunctions, and my son dies?

Calrissian comes up beside me and speaks, as if giving voice to my fear. "Lord Vader, we only use this facility for carbon freezing. You put him in there, it might kill him."

There is no time for extensive testing, but… I snap to a decision. "I do not want the Emperor's prize damaged." I am rationalizing. It is my own desire that he not be harmed that motivates me. But it is better if only I know that. "We will test it on Captain Solo."

The prisoners are brought swiftly. Somewhere the Wookiee has acquired a partially disassembled protocol droid, strapped in pieces to his back. Did they have a droid with them before? I don't remember, but I might very well not have noticed if they had. Although I probably would have noticed a protocol droid, for every time I see one I remember scrounging through the trash heaps of Mos Espa for circuits and wires to salvage, and long hours spent piecing together my finds into a complete creation. This one's damaged state irritates me. Give me a few minutes with my tools and I'd soon have him put back together properly. But the droid is essentially irrelevant, so I dismiss him from my thoughts.

Boba Fett is furious about my plans for Solo, though he conceals it well. "What if he doesn't survive? He's worth a lot to me."

I will be glad to be rid of this obnoxious bounty hunter, constantly hovering at my shoulder to make sure his prize is not in jeopardy. I wave his concern away. "The Empire will compensate you if he dies." With the vast size of the bounty the Hutt have promised, I am far beyond my authority to make this assurance, but I will worry about that only if the need arises. I gesture to the guards. "Put him in."

As they seize Solo, the Wookiee cries out, and flails his long arms wildly. Several stormtroopers are knocked sprawling. The guards struggle to contain him. Beside me, Fett raises his weapon. _Idiot, don't shoot him. I may have need of him yet_. I shove the blaster down.

Solo moves to the Wookiee, and speaks calming words to him. I turn to watch their interaction, but my gaze is caught by the Princess. She is looking, not at her lover, but at me, and her eyes smolder with fury. I feel a sluggish stirring in the Force around me. I stare at her in surprise. She is reaching out, clumsily and perhaps unconsciously, to strike me, and it is not the Light she is calling upon. No, in her untrained, awkward way, she is seeking to use the Dark Side of the Force, though I doubt she realizes it. With the strength of her hatred for me, she might well succeed, given enough time to work unopposed.

I block her efforts easily, and she shrinks back, cowed, from my superior strength and skill. The Wookiee has calmed down again. The Princess turns to Solo, he bends toward her, and they kiss, hard and passionate. I close my eyes. _Their feelings should mean nothing to me_. When I open them again, my stormtroopers have dragged Solo away and positioned him in the center of the carbon freezing chamber. The Princess, staring at him, blurts out, "I love you."

His words are light, but his voice and eyes are deadly earnest. "I know."

I know I should not, must not, but the temptation is too great, and I open myself to sense the current of passion flowing between them. Their eyes stay locked together as Solo is slowly lowered into the pit, and the touch of their emotion is exquisite agony to me. The Wookiee cries out mournfully, and I wrench myself away, ashamed and angry at my weakness. I look at the operator, and he throws the switch to begin the process.

Steam billows up around us as carbonite pours into the chamber. The process takes only an instant. Then mechanical claws clamp around the new-made block, and lift it to our level. It crashes to the floor. Solo's face and hands form a bas-relief sculpture in the surface of the block, as if an artist labored for a lifetime to capture the essence of a captive soul yearning for freedom. Calrissian kneels beside it, and checks the readings on the control panel that has been incorporated into the carbonite.

"Well, Calrissian, did he survive?" Good, my voice is impassive, betraying nothing of my anxiety.

Calrissian nods. "Yes, he's alive… and in perfect hibernation."

My plan will work. This time it is relief I struggle to keep from my voice. "He's all yours, bounty hunter. Reset the chamber for Skywalker."

* * *

One of my officers enters the room and approaches me. "Skywalker has just landed, my lord."

My heart beats faster. The moment is almost upon me. "Good. See to it that he finds his way in here."

I gesture for the chamber to be emptied. Calrissian moves to take the Princess's arm to escort her out. I stop him with a glance. "Calrissian, take the Princess and the Wookiee to my ship." I am greatly intrigued by the Princess's little display. A Rebel leader, flirting with the Dark Side. I think I have found her vulnerability at last, and with it a potential that may yet be made to serve the Empire.

Calrissian protests, outraged. "You said they'd be left in the city under my supervision."

I am impatient with anything that delays the coming confrontation. "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further." I storm across the room, calling for my officers to clear everyone away from the chamber.

Finally it is empty. As my last officer leaves, I give strict orders that Skywalker and I are not to be disturbed for any reason. He rides the lift down, and leaves it lowered, ready for my son to find it.

I am alone. All is silent save for the rasp and hiss of my breath. I pace through the room, searching for the best place to wait for him. Here, on the upper level. I send a flicker of Force to the switch that controls the lights, and the room goes dim. I will conceal myself in the shadows. I choose my position and make sure my lightsaber is ready to my hand. My preparations are complete. Now there is nothing to do but to wait.

Try as I might to be calm, adrenaline courses through my system. My guts twist in knots, sending waves of nausea into my stomach. My heart hammers in my chest, and my pulse pounds loud in my ears. My skin is clammy with sweat. I feel the same mix of anticipation and terror as when I used to wait in my pod, hands on the controls, ears straining for the sound of the starting gong. I felt this way riding up the turbolift to meet Padmé again after a decade apart. I felt this way on our wedding night, as she led me for the first time to her bed.

I school my mind to meditation, working through the familiar steps of the Sith ritual. But it does nothing for me; I am in as much turmoil as ever. Desperate for calm, I cast my mind back and call up my memory of the Jedi ritual. This is somewhat more successful, my jumbled thoughts stilling and centering. But still I jump at the sound of the lift hissing upward.

He is here. I feel him, cautious and alert, senses scanning the darkened room. I can see his shadowy form as he slowly returns his blaster to his belt.

I can bear to wait no longer. I flick the controls, and light floods the chamber. I look upon him, finally, as I speak the words I have prepared. "The Force is with you, young Skywalker." It shines around him, bright as ever. "But you are not a Jedi yet."

He is slender, but his body holds a wiry strength. He is wary, guarded. Hearing my voice, he starts, and then approaches me. Momentarily, the way the light falls on his features and the angle of his head are shockingly familiar to me. I have prepared myself to see echoes of Padmé in his face, or my own younger self, but not this. For an instant my mother looks back at me.

Then he shifts, and I can see that the resemblance to his grandmother is not really that great, though present. But I am shaken, and I struggle to regain my composure.

He climbs the stairs to the upper level and stands before me. Our eyes lock and we study each other.

He cannot know. His eyes meet mine with forthright enmity. There is no trace of questioning, searching, yearning… none of the emotions I feel as I gaze at him. To him I am nothing but a foe. I have killed his mentor, hurt his friends, I am a servant of the Empire he fights against, and he faces me with a simple resolve to defeat me or die.

He draws a lightsaber from his belt and ignites it. As the blue beam flames to life, I stare transfixed at the hilt. Every lightsaber is unique, and this one is intimately familiar to me. I remember hours spent bent over it in intricate labor, plying tools and Force in partnership as only a Jedi can, building a weapon I would wield with pride, all through the Clone Wars. Obi-Wan took it from me, as I lay dying on the sands of Mustafar, stripping away my membership in the Jedi Order. Now it burns in the hand of my son.

I raise my own lightsaber in answer to his challenge. This one too I built, but according to Sith principles, the synthetic red crystal at its heart lending its color to the glowing blade. We stand, opposed, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

He strikes the first blow. Ah, he has not yet learned patience. I parry it, allowing him to show me his skill. He fights well, though not with the polish only years of practice can give. But he knows the essential skill of allowing the Force to flow through his body and weapon, and from that all else can come.

I move more aggressively against him, testing his strength. I force him backwards, and he falls back into a crouch. I do not press my advantage. He scrambles to his feet and moves against me again. He is courageous enough, certainly. We fight, saber meeting saber in a deadly rhythm of crackles and thrums.

A pause comes in the tempo of our battle, and we both catch our breath. I have the measure of his ability now. Well on the road to becoming an excellent swordsman, but not nearly up to my level, yet. I can defeat him without killing him, if I keep my wits about me.

"You have learned much, young one." I am honest in my praise. I remember the long hours of drill under Obi-Wan's tutelage. Here and there in his technique I recognize a move Obi-Wan taught me.

"You'll find I'm full of surprises." His voice is strained. I can hear the inflections of Tatooine in his accent.

Again our sabers meet. This time I fight with more purpose. Soon my chance comes. A twist of my wrist, and his saber flies from his hand, clattering down to land on the chamber's lower level. I press towards him and he retreats, tumbling down the stairs. _You will have to correct that error in your form, my son. You must learn to be aware of what's behind you_. I gauge the distance carefully, then tap into the Force and leap. Now he is trapped between me and the chamber's central pit.

He scrambles back. Then, when I do not pursue, he warily climbs to his feet.

"Your destiny lies with me, Skywalker." _Your inheritance, your birthright._ "Obi-Wan knew this to be true." _He must have known you were my son. How did he dare train you, after his experience with me? He must have known that someday our paths would cross, and I would call you to join me on the Dark Side. It must have been his greatest fear._

His eyes shift to the side, seeking an escape, but there is none. He looks back at me. "No." He is defiant, but there is fear in his voice also. _My son, there is nothing to fear. The Dark Side is not so terrible. It is just another path. Will you walk beside me on it?_

He is right on the rim of the pit, now. I know his weakness. I edge forward, and, his eyes locked on mine, he edges back. With a shout he falls backwards into the pit.

"All too easy." Almost I am disappointed. Our time alone together is over. After this, my Master will be present with us. I had hoped for more of a connection, more words, more… something. I haven't even told him the truth yet.

I reach out through the Force and throw the switch. Carbonite pours into the chamber and steam billows up. I gaze down to where his body is being flash-frozen into hibernation. "Perhaps you're not as strong as the Emperor thought." _As I thought. As I hoped. I wish things could have been different, my-_

Is it a sound or a quiver in the Force that draws my attention upward? I'm not sure. But there he is, clinging to the tubes that festoon the ceiling like tropical vines. He must have leapt upward before the carbonite could touch him. He is skilled in the Force. An irrational pleasure fills me. "Impressive." Though my task of capturing him is now that much harder, still I am pleased. I slash with my saber, attempting to sever the tube he hangs from, but instead only manage to cut the one next to it. He climbs hand over hand upwards, Force and body working in perfect synchronization. "Most impressive." Am I foolish to feel so gratified at this display of my son's talent?

Without warning he casts loose from the ceiling and flips gracefully to the floor. He seizes the severed end of the tube I cut and steam shoots forth, blasting into my face. Protected as I am by my mask it cannot hurt me, but I cry out, startled. Momentarily I am blinded, and the water droplets clog my air filter, impeding my oxygen supply. In the time I am distracted he calls his fallen lightsaber back to his hand, and by the time I clear my mask and move again against him, he is ready, and meets my saber with his.

Our sabers sputter their antagonism. "Obi-Wan has taught you well." I should not be surprised. He was always an excellent teacher. I free my saber from his. "You have controlled your fear." I must begin now to provoke the emotions that will open his mind to the influence of the Dark Side. "Now, release your anger. Only your hatred can destroy me." I attack with renewed ferocity, intent on inflaming his wrath against me.

He leaps and flips, avoiding my blade. He is angry now, his blows striking with ever increasing power. He advances and I give ground, stepping slowly back toward the edge of the platform.

Suddenly there is nothing beneath my foot, and I fall back and down, crying out in my surprise. I land hard on my back, and the breath is knocked out of me. I struggle to breathe again, cursing my own arrogance and stupidity. I fell victim to the very carelessness I used against him!

I climb to my feet and slip away into the shadows. I must have a few moments to recover before we fight again. I hear his footsteps above, seeking a way down to where I am. From my earlier explorations, I am familiar with this area, and I move down a corridor into a control room where a round, segmented window looks out into Cloud City's central open space. He must find his way here soon enough, whichever path he takes. I wait, my breathing still labored. I have tested his skill with a saber, and have a good feel now for his capabilities. Next, I will explore his ability with more direct applications of the Force.

There he is, lightsaber again ready for me. I bring mine up, but instead of moving to engage him, I turn my attention to an assembly of pipes attached to the wall behind him. Sinking more deeply into the Force, I reach out with my mind, rip it loose and cast it toward him. He turns to block it with his saber, then moves once more against me, and our sabers clash and parry. I cast about for anything I might move, and find some loose boxes to throw against him. He does not have the idea yet to deflect them with the Force, and tries again to knock them aside with his saber. Several get past his guard and strike him. Perhaps I can knock him unconscious. I rip loose another pipe fitting, and fling it toward his head. But this time as he shrinks aside to avoid it, he manages to nudge it just slightly with the Force. It misses him and sails beyond, slamming through the round window behind him with a crash of shattering glass.

The air in the room is sucked out into the vast central space in a howling wind that drags both of us toward the gaping hole. I manage to grab hold of a projection in the wall beside me. He too clings to the wall, but the wind tears at him, and I watch, helpless, as he loses his grip and is flung into the abyss.

_Luke_! Careless of my own safety I release my grasp and move toward the window. The wind dies as the pressure equalizes, and I am able to stand on the brink and look down. He clings by his fingertips to a catwalk no more than a few meters down, body suspended over a bottomless pit. Should I reach out in the Force and lift him up? No, he is pulling himself up, slowly and painfully. He lies for a moment, panting, and we both gaze down in horrified fascination into the chasm that nearly claimed him.

I draw back as he looks up. Then he sets off down the catwalk, along the outside of the huge sail shaped structure that houses the carbon freezing chamber. I move in the same direction down the long, narrow control room. When I come in sight of the open doorway at the room's end, I conceal myself in an alcove and wait.

This battle has gone on long enough. I am tiring; Luke is young and has more stamina. The longer we continue, the more chance some other accident might occur, fatally this time. I must ignite his rage and anger and drive him into the waiting arms of the Dark Side now, if ever.

His silhouette is framed in the bright opening. He walks down the room's central corridor, senses alert and questing. As he reaches me, I slice down at him with my saber and he ducks away. I am serious now, slamming blows at him that he is barely able to block, forcing him backwards down the corridor. I let the Dark Force flow through me, narrowing my awareness down to the singular need to defeat him. I swing with such power that as he twists away my occasional missed strike slams into walls and doorframe, sending red sparks showering.

He backs away, out onto a narrow walkway that juts out over the abyss. I follow, pressing him mercilessly until he stumbles and falls backward. In an instant the point of my lightsaber is at his throat. "You are beaten." He shrinks away from my saber, crawling back as I press it closer. "It is useless to resist. Don't let yourself be destroyed as Obi-Wan did." A fleeting memory teases me, of the calm tranquility on Obi-Wan's face in the moment I struck. But Luke's face is taut with fear, and Obi-Wan's name has the effect I intended, rousing his anger against me. He knocks my saber away with a sudden blow, then rolls away and scrambles to his feet. His attack has new power, and for a moment my defense falters. His saber flashes in and strikes me, high on my right shoulder.

The far too familiar searing pain of lightsaber blade slicing into my flesh clouds my mind with rage. I am fiercely jealous of what little of my body I have left, and he has cut me a full handspan above the place where metal is bonded to the stump left by Dooku's blade. For the first time I attack him with the desire to hurt and to kill. My wild strikes shear off a portion of the railing beside us in a shower of sparks. Back my saber hammers at him, blocking his blow and twisting around his blade in a vicious riposte, throwing his arm wide. My saber flashes down, then up through his wrist, and his hand, lightsaber hilt still clutched in its grasp, flies out and down in a graceful arc, tumbling into the chasm.

He screams and clutches the cauterized stump of his arm, falling heavily backward. I stand, lightsaber down and still, feeling his agony, knowing with him the utter sickening wrongness of having a part of your self cut away.

_What have I done?_

He clings to the railing, helpless now. He has nowhere to go, no way anymore to fight back. He is in my power. I edge closer to him. "There is no escape. Don't make me destroy you." _Please, Luke, listen to me._ He backs away from me, onto the last narrow strut at the end of the walkway. I close my eyes momentarily at the sight of the vast yawning emptiness framing his body. I must make him understand.

"Luke, you do not yet realize your importance." _Your importance to the Empire. To me._ "You have only begun to discover your power." _I think you are as strong as I ever was. But through the Dark Side you could be so much more._ "Join me, and I will complete your training. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy." My clenched fist opens and in my cupped hand I can almost see the spiral arms of the galaxy shining, a galaxy at peace, where justice flows out from the heart of the Empire and all beings joyfully embrace it. It is what I have always dreamed of, and for a moment it seems so possible, for with my son at my side can I not achieve anything I desire?

He has backed all the way to the end of the strut, and clings there one-handed. His face is twisted with mingled pain, terror, and defiance. "I'll never join you!"

"If you only knew the power of the Dark Side." My hand clenches again into a fist, then falls. It is time. I must tell him. "Obi-wan never told you what happened to your father."

His hatred is naked on his face. "He told me enough." He swings awkwardly down to a lower part of the structure, still retreating as much as he can from me. "He told me you killed him." His voice is hoarse and ragged.

So that is the lie you told him, Obi-Wan. If you believed Anakin to be dead, would it not be more truthful to say that you killed him? But I did not die that day, and my son shall know the truth.

"No." The words are harder to say than I expected. Once I pronounce them aloud, the universe will change, and they can never be unsaid. But I look into his eyes, and say them. " _I_ am your father."

He stares at me, eyes wide first with shock, then with horrified denial. "No." He shakes his head, trying to refuse to believe, even as the knowledge sinks into his heart. "No. That's not true." His face contorts with the effort of his rejection. "That's impossible!"

His horror is no surprise to me, but still it hurts. What kind of monster am I in his eyes, to inspire such loathing?

"Search your feelings." _The Force will tell you_. "You know it to be true." He knows. If he did not believe me, he would not be wracked so with the intensity of his reaction.

"No!" he screams, as if his denial can alter reality. I screamed that way, when my Master told me Padmé was dead by my hand. _Not all the power of the Force, dark or light, can change what is, my son._ "No!"

What can I tell him that will help him accept my words? I cast about for an idea, and then I understand. He is a Rebel. He hates the Empire.

"Luke, you can destroy the Emperor." For a moment my words catch him and hold him spellbound. "He has foreseen this. It is your destiny." I know it is possible. I look at him, and I want this as badly as I have ever wanted anything in my life. As much as I wanted my freedom from slavery. As much as I wanted to be a Jedi. As much as I wanted to hold Padmé's sweet body against mine. As much as I wanted to save her from death. As I have wanted nothing, in the years since, except to forget. "Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy as father and son." I extend my hand to him. All he needs to do is reach out and take it.

He looks down, into the bottomless chasm. Then he looks up at me and gazes into my eyes. My heart clenches with longing. "Come with me." _Give me the chance to love you, my son._ "It is the only way."

He looks down again, leaning out over the void. His gaze returns to mine, and horror grips me, for in his eyes is the same calm acceptance that shone in Obi-Wan's face as my saber whistled toward his neck. Too late I understand what he intends to do.

His hand opens, and he gives himself to the abyss. I reach out in the Force to seize him, but he slips from my grasp, and tumbles through the swirling winds, down, down, endlessly down.

I clutch the railing and watch until I can see him no longer. Then I close my eyes, and the universe stops as I wait to feel his bright flame snuffed out. As I wait to feel my son die.

* * *

I wait. And wait. And though the dead emptiness that was my heart dares admit no hope, still his presence remains, terrified, in pain, but alive. I hear him call out through the Force. _Ben, please. Ben_. Then stronger. _Leia_.

My eyes snap open. Luke lives. He calls out for rescue. I am in motion before I make any conscious decision, striding back along the catwalk, breaking into a run as I reach the main structure.

It is a long, long way back, through corridors empty at my command, to the main part of the city. My heart pounds out of rhythm with my thudding feet, and I focus all my energy on sucking in enough oxygen through my mask to fuel my flight.

There, ahead of me at last, people, racing in chaotic frenzy through the halls of the city. I slow again to a walk. Dignity. Power. I stride with intent purpose toward the rooms where we have established our headquarters.

I spy an Imperial officer, trying vainly to calm the milling citizens, to order them back to their homes. He turns to me, and I snap out my orders. "Contact the _Executor_ at once. Tell them to send fighters to the base of the city. Never mind why, just do it!" He fumbles with his comlink, stretching his steps long to keep up with me as I alter my course toward the landing bay where my shuttle waits.

Others of my officers join us, the babble of their voices informing me of the events that have been taking place while Luke and I fought. "Fett took Solo…"

"But the other captives have escaped, my Lord…"

"…fought their way to the _Millennium Falcon_ , and took off…"

"Calrissian went with them, he made an announcement to the whole city to evacuate, it's been chaos…"

"You're wounded, my Lord."

I had forgotten. I look down at my right shoulder. The material of my suit flaps open. Lightsaber wounds bleed little, but I can glimpse raw burned flesh in a long, shallow gash.

"It is nothing." I twitch a fold of my cape forward to cover it. I will have a medical droid tend it once everything is over.

Here is my shuttle. The pilot is already at the controls, listening intently to the chatter coming over the communicator. "What's going on?" I snap.

"Lord Vader, the fighters have reported encountering a ship at the base of the city. It was hovering there as they approached, but fled as they got closer. It's the _Millennium Falcon_ , my Lord." He looks at me nervously, but I am far too preoccupied to care. _They must have gotten there first, and found him. They would not have left had he still been in danger._ "The fighters are pursuing them now."

"Relay my orders to the _Executor_. The fighters are not, I repeat, _not_ , to attempt to destroy the Falcon. Drive them close enough to the _Executor_ that Piett can capture them with a tractor beam."

"Yes, sir."

The rest of the flight takes place in strained silence. My thoughts buzz in agitated circles. _He is aboard the_ Falcon _. We will capture them, and I will have him again in my power. I will talk to him, reason with him, make him understand. I must persuade him to turn, for if I take him to my Master unconverted, my Master will destroy him. Surely I can reach something in him, some trace of feeling for me hidden deep in his heart._

I close my eyes and clench my fists in despair. _He feels nothing for me but hatred. He chose death over me. He has rejected me utterly. I will not be able to save him from my Master's wrath._

I am still in turmoil as we reach the _Executor_. I brush aside the insistent voices of my officers as I stride toward the bridge, and make my way with intent purpose to the viewport. The ocean of stars spreads out before me. One of those stars loops and turns, diving closer to me, pursued by a shimmer of smaller stars. As it approaches it resolves into the familiar shape of the _Falcon_.

Beside me, Piett follows my gaze. "They'll be in range of our tractor beam in moments, lord." His voice is confident, but I cannot ignore the dread in my heart. This ship has escaped us so often before.

"Did your men deactivate the hyperdrive on the _Millennium Falcon_?" Calrissian's men repaired the damage that kept them trapped in normal space previously, but I took the precaution of ordering the system taken offline, access sealed behind an encryption of my own devising. It is a code I first developed when upgrading the programming of my old R2 unit, and have continued to improve since. R2 could have made short work of the seal, but I doubt anything else in the galaxy could break through it with less than a month's hard work. There had seemed to be no need, with the ship safely in our possession, but I am glad now for my paranoia.

"Yes, my lord." There is no way they can evade us again. Their capture is certain. So why does my heart pound and my breath quicken, while my eyes track them fixedly, afraid to blink lest they vanish from my sight?

"Good. Prepare the boarding party and set your weapons for 'stun.'" I have a wild urge to examine each of the stormtroopers' weapons personally, to assure myself they are set properly. My troops are obedient, and will not willfully disobey me, but what good would all the punishment I could mete out do, if a careless blaster bolt has already done its work?

"Yes, my lord." He turns to give the orders that will set the plan in motion.

Their ship continues its evasive maneuvers, sweeping closer to the viewport. He is there; I feel him. I know it is still too far, that there is no way he can hear me, so I am free to hold nothing back. I reach out through the Force, pouring all my longing, all my passion, all my desire into my call. _Luke…_

And he answers.

_Father?_

For a moment our minds touch. I see into his heart, all his hopes and fears, his struggles to do what is right, so like and unlike myself, and I know he sees with equal clarity into mine. My eyes burn as my ruined tear ducts struggle uselessly to weep. This is the fulfillment of all I have wanted. Now he will listen. _Son, come with me_.

The bond between us rips into jagged tatters as he tears himself away. I hear anguish in his mind as great as my own as he casts his thoughts away from me, into the darkness. _Ben. Why didn't you tell me?_

Who is this Ben he calls to? Then I understand.

It is his name for Obi-Wan.

I try to summon anger, but I have none left, only an awful helpless grief. _Don't take him from me again, Obi-Wan. For the sake of the love we once bore each other, let me have my son's heart._

I reach out again, desperate, to where his mind is turning away, resisting our bond, striving to break it. _Luke, it is your destiny._ It is my destiny. It is our destiny.

For a long, long moment he listens, mind teetering between response and rejection, and I hold my breath, waiting for his choice.

Plaintively, he cries out. _Ben, why didn't you tell me?_

And our bond breaks.

I stare at their ship as we bear down upon them, but I no longer care whether we capture it or not. Nothing can touch the ashes inside me, not even surprise when the _Millennium Falcon_ activates its somehow functional hyperdrive and streaks away forever beyond my reach. Only my last faint awareness of his presence vanishing burns, like the last spark of a dying fire flaming into nothingness.

For a long time I stare out into space. I turn to leave, then look back once more into the sea of stars. _Empty and impossible dreams_.

Piett stands at attention beside me. His face is white, his eyes locked on me. I notice him as if from far away. _He expects to die. He thinks I will reach out in the Force and strangle him, for his failure._ My breath rasps in my ears. _I should. He deserves to die._

But I have no anger, no hate, no rage to channel my mind into the Dark Side of the Force. Only emptiness. _Live to serve the Empire better another day, Piett_. I do not even look at him as I pass.

I am going back to my chamber. I will close it around me and run my maintenance cycle. Metal hands will tend my wound and repair the breach in my armor. Then I will shut out the lights, and when all is dark, and silent save for the sound of my breath, I will sleep.

If the nightmares will let me.


	3. Return to the Jedi

Luke's face, wracked with pain, wreathed by lightning. His hand, reaching out to me. His voice, weak, almost hopeless, begging. "Father, please…" He screams, and the sound burns like a lightsaber thrust through my heart. "Help me!"

I sit straight up, the darkness of my chamber around me, my dream still gripping my mind with the weight of prophecy. I know with sickening certainty that this is more than just another nightmare, born of the fragmented memories of the past. This is the future I see, as I have seen into the future before, when those I loved were in pain.

Were dying.

I switch on the lights in my chamber and move my chair upright, glancing at the chronometer. It is deep in the middle of ship's night, our journey some hours yet from completion. But I leave the lights burning. I will sleep no more this night.

I lean forward and rest my head on my hands. I long for fingers of flesh to rub at eyes not imprisoned within a plastic cage. I close my eyes, but his face is still there, emblazoned on the back of my lids.

_What do you expect me to do?_ I rage at him. Why are you reaching out to me? Have I ever been able to change the future I see in the least detail? When I've tried, have I not simply brought about the very end I dreaded? If I see you dying, my son, then die you will, and I have no strength left any more to struggle against that fact. As a savior, I have proved a dismal failure. Let the Force send visions to your friends, your allies, someone who may actually be able to help you.

Why do you mean anything to me at all? So you share half my genes. What difference does that make? I don't know you, not really. We spent, what, a whole hour together? I doubt it was that long. And we were fighting, trying to kill each other. I cared about you so much I chopped your hand off. And you felt such love for me you threw yourself to your death to escape me. Hardly an auspicious beginning for our relationship.

So we looked for a moment into each other's hearts, and you called me father. What do I know of fatherhood? I never had a father. Not even, apparently, in the strictly biological sense. Conceived by the midi-chlorians, they said. My mother never told me how I came to be. When I went to her, newly enlightened as to certain facts by my tittering friends, she just smiled _. I wanted a child to love, Ani, and you came to me. Does anything else really matter?_ And it didn't matter, so I let the subject drop. I was not blind to the sort of things that went on around me. A slave's life is not really her own. Whether I originated in a brief love terminated when he was killed or sold, or whether some violence planted me in her womb, I assumed the subject was too painful for her to think about. She would tell me more in time, when I was older.

Then my world changed, and around me the Jedi whispered. _The Chosen One_. The prophecy spoke of one the Force itself brought into being. Obi-Wan said my mother told Qui-Gon that I had no father, that she didn't know how she became pregnant with me. Did she lie to him, perhaps, so he would take me as a Jedi? For it is obvious now that I was never really the Chosen One at all.

Some of my friends on Tatooine had fathers. Some of them played with their children. Some of them beat them. I know many of my men on this ship have wives and children back on their scattered homeworlds. The Empire sends their families a portion of their pay, and if they are lucky they get leave once a year to visit.

Among the Jedi there were no fathers or mothers. Babies were brought to the Temple, and all adults participated in their care. No single individual was allowed to spend too much time with any one child, for that could lead to forbidden attachment. I suppose the relationship of Master and Padawan could be considered similar to that of parent and child. Obi-Wan served as something of a father to me.

Who performed that service for you, Luke? Who was there to hold you when you cried, to hear your first words, to introduce you to all the wonders and horrors of the universe? I meant for that to be me. You must know I never willingly abandoned you. I would have forsaken the Jedi for you. When she told me about you for the first time, I felt so much joy, in spite of the turmoil you must inevitably bring into our lives. _This is the happiest moment of my life_ , I told her. And it was. It was.

And now I see you dying, and I know there is nothing at all I can do to stop it. Why does the Force torment me so? Sometimes I ponder thoughts heretical to both Jedi and Sith, and wonder if the Force is no more than a malevolent spirit, that tortures us without mercy, like children on Tatooine pulling the wings off sand flies, for the pleasure of laughing at us as we pitifully squirm. If I could I would tear out whatever it is within me that connects me to the Force, and fling it away.

No. If I did that, I would be blind, deaf, crippled far more profoundly than mere loss of arms and legs has left me.

I can no longer sit still, sealed within my shell. I open my chamber and pace through the corridors of the _Executor_ , lights dimmed to their night settings. The few officers on watch know better than to speak to me. Most of the ship's company slumber away the hours as we slip through the netherworld of hyperspace toward our goal. One of the many advantages of staffing our ships only with humans is that it allows us to keep to the twenty-four hour cycle at which humans function best, legacy of the rotational pattern of the species' lost ancestral planet.

The bridge draws me, with its wide viewport looking out into the swirling mottled mosaic of light and dark that is hyperspace. Where in all the vast expanse of the galaxy we slip through are you now, Luke? I have not sought you, in the months stretching to more than a year since our encounter. My Master has kept me busy with a series of tasks, of which this is only the latest, but sometimes I wonder if that is merely a convenient excuse. What remains undone between us, after all? I reached out to you, and you rejected me, and unless you have changed your choice what good would it do me to find you? And yet still I long to look on you again, to try one more time to persuade you.

I lean the dome of my helmet against the transparisteel, and allow my eyes to close again. Crackles of blue lightning dance around your face. Sheer raw Dark Side power. I remember the feel of liquid fire lancing through my veins when Dooku used it against me. My Master has never taught me the art of summoning it. He says my prosthetic arms make it impossible for me, that only flesh and blood can serve as a conduit for this power. I doubt he tells me the truth. The Force flows through them well enough for other purposes. More likely he wishes merely to keep some of his power in reserve, unknown to me. He has implied that his own Master's error was in teaching his apprentice everything he knew of the Force, thus becoming vulnerable to treachery. A mistake I'm sure my Master will never make with me. He will always keep me just weak enough that I cannot be a threat to him.

One other time I have seen such lightning. The day I made my choice. It lashed between Master Windu and Palpatine, while each entreated me to aid him. I knew by then that Palpatine was in truth Darth Sidious, who alone held the key to the power I needed to save Padmé's life. I knew I could not let him die, so I struck against Windu, and together we killed him. And I pledged myself to the service of the Dark, asking nothing in return save that power. For your sake, Padmé, I swore to walk through hell itself. And so I have, these twenty-five years. And though my own weakness betrayed me, and I failed you utterly, still I would make the same choice again without thought or question. My love could not save you from myself, but I withheld nothing in the attempt. Nothing.

If ever in my life I made the right choice, it was that day.

A chime sounds the hour, and a few more lights come on. Around the ship men will be rising from their beds, dressing, heading to the mess hall for breakfast. Already a few early risers are straggling onto the bridge, to get a head start on the morning shift. I straighten and assume my usual pose of serene imperturbability. Hunger gnaws at my stomach, but I ignore it. My maintenance cycle can be postponed a few more hours, until we arrive at our destination. A new chamber, incorporating all my latest modifications and upgrades, has been installed there. The improvement I am most eager to test is a new system to provide me with oxygen-enriched air during those few moments when my mask is off. Perhaps I will never again need experience that feeling of suffocation, my native atmosphere as hostile as the noxious gasses of an uninhabitable planet.

A gradually building hum of excitement fills the bridge, as more and more officers report for duty. Anyone who could call in a favor or offer a bribe seems to have arranged his schedule of assignments to be here this morning. In a short time we will be dropping out of hyperspace, and no one wants to miss that moment.

I continue to gaze out the viewport as the bustle goes on around me. Eventually Piett presents himself beside me. "Lord Vader, we will be arriving at our destination and returning to normal space momentarily."

"Excellent. Proceed, Admiral Piett."

Suppressed excitement builds around me, as all who can position themselves within sight of a viewport. Then Piett gives the order, and the swirling lights of hyperspace resolve into long starstreaks, which hang poised for an endless instant before shrinking swiftly down to single points. All over the bridge, heads crane to see, eyes search the speckled blackness, and I find myself doing the same.

As the _Executor_ swings into orbit around the green and blue moon, it sweeps into view. Vast and deadly, its perfect sphericity marred only by its incomplete side, where beams and girders reach out like skeletal fingers, the new Death Star glows white against the blackness of space.

For the past five years, since the destruction of the original, huge amounts of the Empire's resources have been poured into this construction. What originally took twenty years to accomplish has been duplicated in only a quarter the time. The memory of Alderaan has kept systems across the galaxy docile and compliant with the Empire's will for half a decade, but that memory is fading. Soon, though, that power will be restored to us with the new station's completion.

This is the first time I have seen it. As I watch it slowly swing through the arc of the viewport's field, conflicting emotions assail me. I am proud, naturally, of the Empire's accomplishment, and eager for the day when its capabilities are again at our command. But it was Luke whose Force-guided shot shattered the first Death Star into no more than dust between the stars. The Rebellion will not be able to stand by and allow this one to be completed. They know it will eventually spell the end of their cause. They must strike against us, and soon. And Luke is one of their leaders. Will they again put him at the forefront of the battle? The design flaw in the original that led to its destruction has been corrected, of course, and every minute detail of the plans has been exhaustively analyzed for any similar vulnerability. They will not destroy this one so easily. But they must try. Their survival depends on it. So Luke and I will again face each other as enemies.

And now I know the day will come when he lies helpless as my master destroys him. _I have nothing left to give to save you, Luke. I already gave it all._

_And it was not enough._

Piett approaches me. "Lord Vader, are you ready for your shuttle?"

The stillness of despair passes well enough for composure. "Yes. Send word to the Death Star that we are here, and I will be arriving shortly. Order Moff Jerjerrod to attend me when I land."

"Yes, Lord Vader." He moves to carry out my commands.

Briefly, I open my mind to the Force. I let it sweep through me, carrying my vision down to the deep places of my consciousness, to be sealed away with all the other things I do not think about. Luke's fate is out of my hands. Right now, I have work to attend to.

I set off for the docking bay where my shuttle awaits.

* * *

Moff Jerjerrod tries to appear appropriately welcoming, but his voice is a trifle too fast and pitched a half step too high. "Lord Vader, this is an unexpected pleasure. We're honored by your presence."

He is the sort of officer I most despise, the type who fawns and whines before me, yet proves totally incapable of delivering on the extravagant promises his fear calls forth. My words are clipped and heavy with distaste. "You may dispense with the pleasantries, Commander. I'm here to put you back on schedule."

He pales and stammers. "I assure you, Lord Vader, my men are working as fast as they can."

I pitch my voice to carry to the troops gathered in an honor guard around us. "Perhaps I can find new ways to motivate them." There. Let their imaginations fill the shadows with more elaborate horrors than I could ever devise.

Jerjerrod frowns. Perhaps he has a bit of backbone after all. "I tell you, this station will be operational, as planned."

I assume my most intimidating aspect. "The emperor does not share your optimistic appraisal of the situation."

"But he asks the impossible! I need more men." At least he shows some spirit in his whining. I know his words are true. The work has progressed very well, in fact, and to speed it further would indeed require more personnel. But this little charade is mostly for the benefit of the underlings and troops that surround us. My real orders for Jerjerrod will be conveyed later, in private.

I smile, anticipating his reaction to my next words. "Then perhaps you can tell him when he arrives."

Jerjerrod's eyes widen, and his skin blanches to a sickly pallor. "The emperor's coming here?" The shock on his face rapidly gives way to barely suppressed terror.

My Master inspires even more fear than I do. "That is correct, Commander, and he is most displeased with your apparent lack of progress."

Jerjerrod straightens to attention, with an air of doomed resolve. "We shall double our efforts."

"I hope so Commander, for your sake." I cannot resist adding a final dig. "The Emperor is not as forgiving as I am." Jerjerrod swallows.

I stride away across the landing bay, trailed by the escort Jerjerrod has assigned me. As I approach the far side I allow the man to catch up. "Show me to the quarters that have been prepared for me."

"Yes, Lord Vader."

"And then convey my order to Moff Jerjerrod to attend me there."

I inspect my suite of rooms with a critical eye. My new chamber is there, to a quick visual assessment seeming complete and ready to function. There is also a reception room and a private office. I seat myself in the reception room and wait for Jerjerrod to present himself.

Soon he appears. "Lord Vader?"

I remain seated, allowing him to stand before me. I gesture, and the door slides closed behind him. "Moff Jerjerrod, I have further orders for you which must remain private. The Emperor commands that you reassign all available workers solely to the weapons systems. He wishes them to be fully operational as quickly as possible. You have his permission to remove personnel from construction of the superstructure and all other systems. In fact, he wishes the outer structure to remain incomplete, to serve as camouflage for the station's true state of readiness."

He gapes at me, and I wait while his mind struggles to come to terms with this new demand. Eventually he makes the necessary mental adjustment. "I think… that will be possible, my lord."

"It will." I have studied the plans of the station and the records of the work already completed in great detail, and mapped out the required steps to achieve what my Master asks. "I will forward the revised plans to your engineers immediately. If they have any difficulties in executing them, I will be available to assist them."

"Yes, Lord Vader."

"And remember, this must remain as confidential as possible. Only the men directly involved in the change should be informed, and then only enough that they are able to do their work." On a station this size, with as many men as will have to know about the shift in priorities, I cannot hope it will remain truly secret. But as long as the information does not make its way into the hands of the Rebellion, I will be satisfied. "You are dismissed."

After he leaves, I stay seated for a few minutes, closing my eyes and letting all tension drain away. There was a time when I would have thoroughly enjoyed bullying poor intimidated Jerjerrod, when my power over him would have filled me with satisfaction. But somewhere along the way this sort of thing has become dull routine, a duty I am obligated to do, nothing more. Once his fear would have filled the empty space within me, but now it falls into and through the gaping hole, leaving it wider and blacker than ever.

I open my eyes, and rise so abruptly my chair overturns behind me. I make my way over to my chamber. I will test the functioning of its maintenance cycle, and then tour the station to see for myself how the work is progressing. I will leave nothing to chance. Everything must be in readiness when my Master arrives.

* * *

I stand in the docking bay of the Death Star, surrounded by ranks and ranks of troops, turned out with all the pomp and ceremony Moff Jerjerrod has been able to muster. My cape flaps in the brief rush of wind as the force field opens just enough to allow the triangular craft through. Its lower wings sweep up into landing position, and it settles gently into place before me. The ramp lowers. Two lines of Imperial guards march out, their brilliant red robes in startling contrast to the monochromatic whites and grays of the docking bay. They form an aisle on either side of me.

I lower myself to one knee and bow my head. Behind me I feel a ripple of shock wash through the assembled troops. They have never seen me in an attitude of anything but power and dominance. To see me thus abase myself is disquieting, and their fear and awe of the one about to emerge, who can cause the mighty Lord Vader himself to kneel, is magnified a hundredfold. Which is, of course, the point.

He steps out onto the ramp, and comes slowly down, leaning heavily on his cane. A wizened, frail, stooped old man.

Palpatine, Emperor of the galaxy.

Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith.

My Master.

I feel his presence in the Force looming over me. I wait, subservient as ever, for his word.

It comes. "Rise, my friend." I climb to my feet and fall in beside him. I shorten my steps to match his. We walk together between scarlet-robed guards like living columns.

He will want my report. "The Death Star will be completed on schedule." I know he understands what I mean by _completed_.

Approval is warm in his voice. "You've done well, Lord Vader." He looks sidelong at me, and smiles in what appears to be gently teasing affection, but feels somehow predatory. "And now I sense you wish to continue your search for young Skywalker."

His words throw me off balance, as he so often does. I look at him. Does he truly intend to give me leave at last to seek him? Eagerness and reluctance war within me. I turn my gaze forward again, schooling my voice as close to impassivity as I can manage. "Yes, my master."

"Patience, my friend." He smiles knowingly at me. "In time, he will seek _you_ out."

Luke, seek me out? My breath catches. Why? But my Master is far wiser in the ways of human nature than I shall ever be. If he says so, I must perforce believe it, though I do not understand.

He continues, blithely ignoring my consternation. "And when he does, you must bring him before me. He has grown strong. Only together can we turn him to the Dark Side of the Force."

There is still hope, then. He has not yet resolved to destroy Luke. He still is willing to try to turn him. I could not do it alone, but perhaps together we may yet accomplish it.

Why does that prospect fill me with dismay as well as delight?

I stare stonily forward, knowing I cannot conceal my emotions from him, but trying anyway. "As you wish."

His voice hums with supreme self-satisfied confidence. "Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen."

His laugh runs down my spine like a shiver of fear.

* * *

I study the technical readouts of the Rebel vessels that have been sent by our spies in the Sullust sector. More ships have been arriving there every day. Obviously they are planning some major action. It is as I anticipated. They are preparing to strike against the Death Star. I evaluate the firepower their fleet commands, and compare it to the ships I have immediately available. We should be able to defeat them easily, although they are strong enough to put up a credible defense. While I wait for the command to go and engage them to come from my Master, I set about learning the particulars of each individual ship I will face. What a motley collection they are. Ships of a dozen different alien species have arrayed themselves under the Rebel banner. Each has its strengths and vulnerabilities, and I set out to commit them all to memory.

A rap sounds at the door of my office. "Enter."

Moff Jerjerrod pokes his head in. "Lord Vader, we are commanded to present ourselves to the Emperor in his throne room."

Good. My Master is ready to send me against this ragtag Rebel fleet. I rise and follow Jerjerrod through the corridors of the station.

We ride the lift up to the room where the Emperor awaits. My Master has had this space outfitted according to his preference. A wide window gives a sweeping view of the stars, the Imperial Fleet, and the green curve of Endor below. Centered before it a large, thronelike chair holds my Master, his hands spread regally wide resting on the low, broad arms.

I am haunted by the feeling I have seen him exactly thus before, and I chase the memory until I locate it. Before I knew him by any identity but Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, I stood before him as he sat in a chair such as this. But that time his wrists were shackled to the armrests.

Before I can follow this train of thought any farther, he rises, and pauses for a moment to look out the window at the panorama of space. Then he turns back and calls me forward. "Lord Vader."

"What is thy bidding, my master?"

His voice is calm and matter-of-fact, but his words are nothing I could have anticipated. "Send the fleet to the far side of Endor. There it will stay until called for."

I gape for a moment, nonplussed. Eventually I compose myself enough to speak. "What of the reports of the Rebel fleet massing near Sullust?"

He dismisses me with a flippant wave of his hand. "It is of no concern. Soon the rebellion will be crushed and young Skywalker will be one of us." How does he intend to accomplish this? "Your work here is finished, my friend. Go out to the command ship and await my orders."

He plans to sit here, like a giant snare-spider in the midst of its web, displaying the seemingly incomplete Death Star as juicy bait to draw the Rebels into his trap. It is a bold plan, which if successful will provide a spectacular victory, but to my mind it is too risky. Far safer and more certain to take the fleet against them before they are fully ready.

But my Master cares nothing for my thoughts. I am his servant, not his advisor.

My words are, as always, perfectly obedient. "Yes, my Master." I incline my head to him, and then leave to carry out his orders.

* * *

The touch is so faint that at first I am sure I am imagining it, as I have imagined his touch so often. But this is different somehow, richer, deeper, more mature than anything I have felt from him before. My attention is drawn irresistibly out the viewport, to focus on a single small shuttlecraft, one of dozens of ships of all sorts carrying out the busy hum of activity which supports our installations on Endor and in the space surrounding it.

I approach the communications station, where the officers are occupied with their routine tasks of receiving clearance codes and authorizing traffic all through local space.

I indicate the craft. "Where is that shuttle going?"

The officer leans forward and speaks into the comlink. "Shuttle Tydirium, what is your cargo and destination?"

A voice replies, flat and distorted by the mechanical transmission, but teasing my sharpened senses with a tantalizing familiarity. Not Luke, but I know I have heard that voice before. "Parts and technical crew for the forest moon." The officer straightens up and looks at me, not perceiving anything out of the ordinary, but seeking my approval.

"Do they have a code clearance?" I could be wrong. My mind could be deceiving me, manufacturing evidence to support what I want to believe.

He examines his readout. "It's an older code, sir, but it checks out. I was about to clear them."

I close my eyes and reach out through the Force with all my strength. There. It is unmistakable. He shrinks away from my touch, trying vainly to hide from me. But at the same time a part of him is reaching toward me, despite his best efforts to control himself. A part that searches me, questioning, seeking something…

I open my eyes and look out the viewport at the shuttle. He and his Rebel friends are trying to infiltrate our base on Endor. What can their target be but the facility that generates the shield that protects the still vulnerable Death Star? A logical target, for any Rebel assault against the Death Star can only succeed if the shield is disabled.

My duty is clear. Elementary military strategy dictates that I should order the _Executor_ to fire on them immediately. Unarmed and unshielded, the little shuttle would be disintegrated in moments, foiling that aspect of the Rebels' plot, and most likely dooming their whole strike against us. If I allow them to pass, and land on the moon, even if I alert our troops against them and go down myself to capture them, a thousand things could go wrong and allow them to escape, even, unthinkably, successfully carry out their mission. Yes, my responsibility is plain: to end the threat now by blasting them from the sky.

And I am utterly incapable of giving that order. As soon ask me to fire a blaster bolt through my own heart.

The communications officer asks, "Shall I hold them?"

I draw a deep breath. "No. Leave them to me. I will deal with them myself."

The officer looks puzzled, but nods obediently. "As you wish, my lord." He turns to his assistant. "Carry on." The assistant transmits the authorization to proceed to the shuttle.

I rationalize my decision to myself. My Master would not want Luke killed. I must seek his guidance in how to deal with the Rebel force before taking any action. I look out the viewport toward the vast curve of the station where he waits. A thrill of fear runs through me at the thought of his displeasure.

I look toward the shuttle again. _Luke_? But they have moved beyond range, beginning their long spiral descent to the moon's surface.

I turn and walk with heavy steps to my shuttle, which will take me unbidden to my Master's presence.

* * *

His tone is sharp, his words curt. He keeps his chair turned away from me as he continues to gaze out into space. "I told you to remain on the command ship."

I quail before him. But offering excuses or apologies would be worse than useless. Any attempt to conceal the fact of my disobedience would only inflame his wrath against me. The only thing I have to offer is a bald statement of what brings me here. "A small Rebel force has penetrated the shield and landed on Endor."

He swivels around to look at me. His voice is coldly dismissive. "Yes, I know."

He knows? Does he know also that I allowed them to pass, in dereliction of my duty? Does he know why? "My…" I stumble over the words. I have never acknowledged the relationship to him before. "…son is with them."

I have surprised him. He leans forward, eyes intent on me. "Are you sure?"

"I have felt him, my Master." Inwardly I am cursing. I needn't have told him.

"Strange that I have not." Strange indeed. Usually his senses are far more perceptive than mine. He eyes me speculatively. "I wonder if your feelings on this matter are clear, Lord Vader."

Clear as a Tatooine sandstorm. But there is only one acceptable answer. "They are clear, my Master."

He settles back in his chair. "Then you must go to the sanctuary moon and wait for him."

Wait for him? Not seek him out? I can't imagine that Luke would ever intentionally approach me. The memory of his falling body, fleeing from me into death, is vivid in my mind. But when I felt him on the shuttle he reached out… "He will come to me?"

"I have foreseen it." He is the spider in the center of his web again, manipulating the universe, drawing it in to his desired conclusion. "His compassion for you will be his undoing."

Compassion? For me? Surely he must be mistaken. Luke feels no compassion for me. But if he did… A terrible hunger aches in my gut. I push it away, angry. I do not need his compassion, his pity. I do not want it. For is not my Master telling me he would simply use it, as he uses all things?

His eyes bore into me, implacable in command. "He will come to you, and then you will bring him before me."

Lightning crackles around the edge of my vision. If I bring Luke before him, it will be his doom. But I have no choice. Not anymore. My choice was made long ago. I bow my head in submission. "As you wish."

He swivels his chair around, dismissing me, to gaze again into space, and watch the threads he has spun draw tighter and weave together, bringing his plans closer and closer to completion.

* * *

The shuttle pilot turns to me, where I sit watching the soft greens and browns of Endor sweep closer. "Transmission for you, Lord Vader, from our base on the moon's surface."

"Put them through."

The officer's voice crackles with static. "Lord Vader, a Rebel appeared at the station a short while ago, requesting to speak with you. He put up no resistance when we took him into custody. He has not said so, but I believe he may have some information he wishes to sell."

What other reason could he imagine for a Rebel placing himself in our hands? But I know this is no defector hoping to curry our favor and earn a tidy profit by betraying his comrades. Luke's motives baffle me, but personal gain is not among them, I am sure. For a moment I close my eyes. My Master was right, as he always is.

"I am on my way to the station now. Hold him until I arrive."

I stare out the viewport as the shuttle sinks down through layers of atmosphere. Why, Luke? Why place yourself in danger? Don't you understand I won't be able to protect you anymore? You are walking right into my Master's trap, and there is nothing I can do to stop you.

The shuttle settles onto the broad landing pad on top of the station. I ride the lift down a level, to where the doors open onto a short wooden bridge spanning the distance to the station's entrance. As I approach, the door whooshes open. An officer steps out, but I have eyes only for the slim dark figure beside him, hands bound, surrounded by Stormtroopers. Luke looks intently back at me, his expression open and challenging. His presence in the Force is calm, centered, with no trace of fear. Our eyes locked, we study each other, and I am scarcely aware of the officer speaking.

"This is the rebel that surrendered to us. Although he denies it, I believe there may be more of them, and I request permission to conduct a further search of the area. He was armed only with this." I tear my gaze away from Luke, and reach out to take the offered lightsaber hilt. It is unfamiliar to me. The one he bore at our last meeting, the one that was once mine, fell along with his severed hand down into the depths of Cloud City.

I collect my thoughts enough to address the officer. "Good work, Commander. Leave us. Conduct your search and bring his companions to me." Luke looks sharply at me, and I feel a quiver of his fear. _You did not think I would believe you were here alone, did you? You are afraid for your friends, but not for yourself._

The officer nods. "Yes, my lord." He turns and leads the stormtroopers back through the door, and we are alone.

I turn and he falls in beside me, and we walk down the bridge side by side, our steps matched. It feels bizarre, and yet somehow perfectly natural, that my son and I should walk together. As if we were always meant to walk so, as if our winding paths of destiny have led us all along so that we would come to this place, he at my side, and I at his.

"The Emperor has been expecting you." Again his power is proved to me. I should have known better than to doubt it.

Luke's voice is composed. "I know, Father."

_Father_. My heart leaps at the word. Is it possible he is here to join me, after all? But I must not betray my reaction to him. "So, you have accepted the truth."

He looks sideways at me. "I've accepted the truth that you were once Anakin Skywalker, my father."

Hearing my name from his lips brings that time leaping back to life in my mind. _Anakin, you're breaking my heart… You were my brother, Anakin... Anakin…_ I crush the memories down, transmuting pain to anger. "That name no longer has any meaning for me." I am nearly shouting, shaking my fist with his lightsaber hilt still clutched in it.

He faces me with earnest passion, reaching out with eyes and mind. "It is the name of your true self. You've only forgotten. I know there is good in you. The Emperor hasn't driven it from you fully."

_That_ is why you've come, Luke? You think you can turn _me?_ Almost I laugh, the idea is so preposterous, and yet… He is so certain, and I can feel the intensity of his emotion radiating from him. Compassion, caring… love. For me.

He turns from me, to gaze out into the night forest. "That was why you couldn't destroy me." He rests his shackled hands on the railing. "That's why you won't bring me to your Emperor now."

He puts the weight of the Force into his voice, so strongly that I feel the urge to nod and agree, and must actively resist the power of his suggestion. _I didn't kill you because you are my son, nothing more._ It has nothing to do with good or evil. That is the essential fallacy of the Jedi, equating the Dark Side of the Force with evil, and the Light with good. Just because I serve the Dark does not make me evil, and that I care for you, yes, even love you, does not mean there is anything of the Light left in me.

I must take him to my Master. As much as I long to unfasten his shackles and send him back into the night to his Rebel friends, I cannot disobey a direct command.

The thought of him standing before my Master suddenly induces a breathless, panicky terror. The Light is so strong in him, yet it can be no match for the bottomless well of Darkness that is my Master. He will die; I have seen it. For a moment I loathe my Master with an intensity that shakes me to my core.

I search for anything to distract my attention. His lightsaber weighs heavy in my hand. I raise it and thumb the switch, releasing a beam of emerald flame. "I see you have constructed a new lightsaber." I sweep it through the air. Though it passes within inches of his unprotected back, so that he must feel the radiance of its heat, he does not flinch. I examine the hilt. Good, careful workmanship, a plain style, but eminently functional, and not without a certain simple grace. "Your skills are complete." With Obi-Wan dead, where could he have learned how to build it? Is he so in tune with the Force that its guidance alone was enough? "Indeed you _are_ powerful, as the Emperor has foreseen." He is a true Jedi, worthy heir of the lost Order.

He turns toward me, and something in the way he looks at me feeds a hunger so deep I didn't know it was there. I feel that if he takes that regard from me I will starve. There is no compulsion in his voice this time, just a simple plea. "Come with me."

I stare away from him, out to where the calls of alien birds echo through the darkness of the forest. For a moment I entertain the wild notion. To walk beside him, out into that forest. To leave Empire, Master, duty, loyalty, everything behind. To forswear the Dark, and embrace again the Light Side of the Force.

No. The Light would never accept me. I have done far too many things in the service of the Dark, things that I must believe were justified means to a noble end. If I were to renounce the Dark, and lose that purpose, they would become crimes, atrocities, and the cries of the slaughtered innocents that haunt my nightmares would rise up into a scream that would never end.

I feel his gaze on the back of my head, his yearning as sharp as mine. He is just the age I was then. I have lived in this shell as long now as I lived out of it. The two halves of my life hover in my mind like two sides of a scale, perfectly balanced.

"Obi-Wan once thought as you do." He brought Padmé to me, to plead with me to abandon the Dark, and turn back to the Light. But neither of them could understand, anymore than Luke can now. I turn to face him.

"You don't know the power of the Dark Side." I feel the weight of it crushing me, dense and implacable. It is like the gravitational singularity at the heart of the galaxy. It draws all things to itself, and once you have ventured into its sphere of influence you are trapped, in an endless descending spiral, until it utterly consumes you. There is no escape. And at the center, _he_ is there, the spider at the center of its web. "I _must_ obey my master."

He slowly shakes his head. I recognize the calm certainty in his eyes and voice. I have seen it in Obi-Wan, and once before in Luke. The serenity of facing death without fear. "I will not turn, and you'll be forced to kill me."

_No_. And yet I know it is true. I try to believe that the Dark will give me strength. I try to believe I could kill him without going mad. "If that is your destiny."

Why couldn't he have stayed safely dead unborn, as I believed him to be all those years? For a moment I hate him, for existing, for loving me, for me loving him, for trapping me in this impossible dilemma.

He steps toward me. "Search your feelings, Father. You can't do this."

I cannot. But I must.

His eyes sweep up and down, and it is as if he can see through my layers of armor, to the scarred and mutilated body beneath. "I feel the conflict within you. Let go of your hate."

He asks the impossible. Grief floods my heart, cold and heavy as the ashes of a burned out star. My voice drags under its weight. "It is too late for me, son." _It was too late before you were born._ I gesture to the stormtroopers who have been keeping a discreet watch over us. "The Emperor will show you the true nature of the Force." They surround Luke, ready to take him away. "He is your Master now."

Luke's voice is regretful, but pointed. "Then my father is truly dead." He does not believe his own words.

But I do.

He walks between his guards without resistance. They enter the lift that will take them to my shuttle, to the Death Star, to my Master. He turns, and looks at me, and his gaze never leaves me as the doors slide shut.

As he vanishes from my sight I turn to look again out into the night. I clutch the railing and lean heavily on it for support. For a while I am lost in black despair. I can think of neither the past nor the future, for they both hold pain beyond my ability to bear.

I bow my head, and look down, a long way down, to the forest floor. There is escape that way, if I want it. I picture myself leaning out over the drop, my hand opening, like Luke's hand.

My heart races, and my hands clutch the railing fiercely tight. I close my eyes, dizzy. Terror pulses through my veins. I fear death. I have always feared it. I have thought often of escaping that way, especially those early days in my suit, when the pain of body and heart was fresh and agonizing. But always this terror has stopped me. Black as my despair is, the thought of stopping, ending, ceasing to be, yawns even blacker, and I cling to life as desperately as I did when I lay burning on the black sand of Mustafar.

Breathing deeply, I straighten and slowly force my fingers to open. Carefully I step back to the center of the bridge, and wait there as my heart and breathing slow. There is no escape for me. I will take Luke to my Master, and he will die. Either my Master will kill him, or he will order me to do it. My universe has shrunk down to that single inescapable fact, and around me is total, utter, unrelieved darkness. I stand, eyes closed, empty, cold, hopeless.

Yet… into the midst of my desolation slips the image of Luke's eyes, turned toward me, open to the fullness of his heart. My son loves me. He courts death and darkness for my sake. He came to me to tell me so. I have lived half a lifetime without loving or being loved, and this comes like the gentle rains of Naboo to the parched desert of Tatooine. I hold it close, a rare, fragile treasure. No matter what happens in the next few hours, no matter what my Master does or commands me to do, Luke has looked at me with love in his eyes, and that cannot be taken from me.

* * *

The ride up to the Death Star in the shuttle is made in strained silence. Luke sits beside me, alternately staring out into space and sneaking glances at me when he thinks I am not looking. A million questions fill my mind. I long to ask him everything I do not know, about his childhood, his youth, all he has done or thought or felt. But I am mindful of the listening ears of the pilot, in this small craft unable to be escaped. And I am mindful, too, of the relationship I must maintain between us, of captor and captive.

I wonder if he, too, longs to converse with me. Once, he begins, "Father –"

"Be silent," I snap, and he subsides. Inside, a part of me cries out. _Let him speak. He goes to his death. There will never be another chance for us to talk together_. But I silence my inner voice as ruthlessly as I have silenced him.

I throw all my concentration into intense Sith meditation. I must sink myself deep, deep, into the Dark Side, if I am to have any hope of making it through what is to come. I call upon the Force, and it wraps itself around and through me, chilling my turbulent emotions into calm, disciplining my rebellious heart into submission. By the time we reach the Death Star, I am as prepared as it is possible for me to be.

Side by side we pace through the corridors of the station. He has meditated as well, and his calm is a perfect match for mine. We ride the lift up to the throne room. The door opens, and we ascend the stairs to where my Master waits.

He is turned facing outward, gazing into the depths of space. As we approach, his chair swivels around, and he looks at us. A smile spreads across his face. "Welcome, young Skywalker. I have been expecting you. You'll no longer need those." He waves his hand in a careless gesture, and the shackles on Luke's wrists spring open and drop to the floor. Luke watches them fall, then looks up at my Master, a trace of apprehension breaking through his composure. _That is only a very small demonstration of his power, my son._

He looks beyond us. "Guards, leave us." The scarlet robed Imperial guards flanking the entrance file obediently away. He turns his attention again to Luke. "I'm looking forward to completing your training. In time, you will call me Master."

So he does intend to make Luke his apprentice. My own life is at stake in this encounter. Whichever of us proves stronger will be the one who survives. Does my Master care which of us it will be?

Luke has regained his calm. He stares at my Master with serene defiance. "You're gravely mistaken. You won't convert me as you did my father."

_Don't think of me as a passive victim, Luke. It was my own free choice to follow the Dark. My Master issued the invitation, but there was no coercion involved._

"Oh, no, my young Jedi." My Master rises from his chair and paces toward us. "You will find that it is you who are mistaken, about a great many things." The two of them lock gazes for a long moment.

I reach to my waist, where I have hung his saber next to my own. I extend it toward my Master. "His lightsaber."

My Master takes it from me and examines it. "Ah, yes, A Jedi's weapon. Much like your father's." He looks at me with a possessive smile. "By now you must know your father can never be turned from the Dark Side. So will it be with you."

He knew all along what Luke intended. He sent me to meet him alone, to face that temptation. Does he trust me that much, or was it a test, to see if he could? If it was, I have passed it.

I look at Luke, to see what his reaction is to my Master's words, but all his attention is focused on my Master. He shakes his head, and speaks with certainty. "You're wrong. Soon I'll be dead, and you with me."

I am chilled by the tranquility with which he speaks of death. What can he mean? What threat could reach us here, in this impregnable fortress?

My Master laughs. "Perhaps you refer to the imminent attack of your Rebel fleet." Luke does not answer, but his eyes betray the truth of the accusation.

The Rebel fleet is about to attack? My eyes go to window, but there is nothing to be seen but empty space. The Imperial fleet is still on the far side of Endor. Mentally I calculate times and distances. I should be out there, leading the defense and counterattack. But inexplicably my Master seems unconcerned. "Yes, I assure you, we are quite safe from your friends here." His voice is heavy with contempt.

As he turns back towards his chair, Luke recovers his poise and fixes him again with that knowing gaze. "Your overconfidence is your weakness."

My Master turns back with a quick retort. "Your faith in your friends is yours."

_He is toying with you, Luke. It amuses him to banter with you, to allow you a show of defiance. Don't be fooled; he could crush you in an instant if he chose._ Impatience with my Master's games washes over me, and hopelessness at the futility of Luke's position. "It is pointless to resist, my son." I look at Luke at first, but as I speak I feel my gaze dragged inexorably back to my Master, where he has settled once again into his throne.

The wedges of transparisteel that encircle him even look like a snare-spider's web. "Everything that has transpired has done so according to my design. Your friends up there…" He waves his hand casually in the direction of Endor. "…on the sanctuary moon are walking into a trap, as is your rebel fleet." Beside me, I feel Luke's confidence waver. "It was I who allowed the Alliance to know the location of the shield generator. It is quite safe from your pitiful little band. An entire legion of my best troops awaits them." Luke's fear barely shows on his face, but I know my Master must feel it as acutely as I do. He leans forward, and twists his face and voice into a parody of solicitous concern. "Oh, I'm afraid the deflector shield will be quite operational when your friends arrive." The feigned pity falls away, and he grins with gleeful relish at the distress now obvious in Luke's demeanor.

He swivels his chair around and looks out into space. Past him, I glimpse a few scattered flashes among the stars. He beckons Luke forward. "Come, boy. See for yourself." Luke moves up beside him, and stares out one of the wide, slit-shaped viewports that arch around the central window. I follow, anxious to see what is happening. Have the Rebels arrived? Yes, that must be them, pulling up to scatter beyond the shield they had expected would be down. And here is our fleet, sweeping out from behind the moon's shelter to engage them. I watch, body tense. I belong out there, in my fighter, in the midst of the conflict, not here, spectator to two battles I am helpless to influence.

My Master's voice hums with pleasure. "From here you will witness the final destruction of the Alliance and the end of your insignificant rebellion."

Distress plays across Luke's face, and I feel his hard-won Jedi calm dissolving beneath the storm of his emotions. Anger, fear – he struggles to suppress them, but still they threaten to overwhelm him. His eyes seek out his lightsaber, where it lies on the arm of the throne at my Master's right hand.

My Master's eyes look into and through Luke. "You want this, don't you," he murmurs, placing his hand on the lightsaber. He strokes it as if it is a living creature, his tame pet. His voice sharpens into certainty. "The hate is swelling in you now. Take your Jedi weapon. Use it. I am unarmed. Strike me down with it. Give in to your anger."

_Don't believe him, Luke. When he claims to be powerless, he is at his most dangerous._ Luke stares warily at my Master. His eyes flick hungrily to his saber, but then he wrenches himself away, turning back to the viewport.

"With each passing moment you make yourself more my servant." My Master is drawing his threads tight, now.

Luke's shoulders heave as he pants with the effort of controlling the raging conflict within him. I watch, guts twisting in frustration with my powerlessness to aid him. Was this how my mother felt, watching me race? I'm sorry, Mother. Only now do I realize what you meant when you said you died inside, every time.

Suddenly Luke turns back, and I catch my breath. What decision has he made? Eyes fixed on my Master, he declares, "No." But the word holds more denial than defiance. I let out my breath in a sigh. For the moment he holds the upper hand in his inner battle, but the war is far from over.

My Master is unconcerned, confident of his eventual triumph. "It is unavoidable. It is your destiny. You, like your father, are now… _mine_."

He asserts his ownership of me with such pleasure. It is true, of course. I have never denied it. But still it rankles. I am more truly a slave now than I ever was on Tatooine. Watto only ever owned my body, but my Master owns my soul.

Luke turns back to the viewport, and watches the battle for a few minutes in silence. The Rebel vessels are surrounded by the Star Destroyers of the Imperial fleet. Luke's shoulders sag as the knowledge sinks in that the aid he counted on will not be forthcoming. He is alone in the midst of his enemies.

My Master does not hesitate to gloat over our triumph. "As you can see, my young apprentice, your friends have failed." Luke turns back to look at him, his distress evident on his face. This is the moment my Master has been waiting for. His voice is hard with satisfaction as he reveals his secret. "Now witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational battle station." He flips a switch in the arm of his throne, and speaks into the com.

"Fire at will, Commander."

Around us, the station hums at an ever-increasing frequency as the weapons systems power up. All three of us fix our eyes on the viewport.

Green flame lances through space. It strikes a Rebel ship, which shatters in a blinding explosion, leaving nothing but scattered debris.

I nod in approval. Everything functioned perfectly. It is regrettable that the secrecy surrounding the completion of the weapons systems dictated that this first test firing must occur under battle conditions, but my constant rigorous inspections of the past few weeks seem to have paid off.

My attention is drawn back to my Master, whose soft words are weaving a web of despair around Luke's heart. "Your fleet is lost, and your friends on the Endor moon will not survive. There is no escape, my young apprentice."

Luke looks up at me in mute appeal. _He speaks truth, my son._ Slowly I incline my head in confirmation. _There is no escape, for either of us._

His gaze drops, back to where my master watches him intently. The soft, seductive words continue. "The Alliance will die, as will your friends."

Luke breathes deeply, and I can feel his desperation growing. Again his eyes go to his lightsaber.

My master closes his eyes. "Good." His face is rapt, as if he savors some delicious flavor. "I can feel your anger." His eyes open again to bore directly into Luke, and his words are aimed with deadly accuracy at the heart of Luke's hopes and fears. "I am defenseless. Take your weapon. Strike me down with all of your hatred, and your journey to the Dark Side will be complete!"

Luke jerks away, to gaze out again at the battle. I feel his despair. He believes what my Master tells him, that his friends have failed in their mission. He must think himself the Rebellion's last hope. He sees the Emperor, vulnerable. The death of the Empire is in his reach, if only he takes up his blade.

_Luke, no. He does not hesitate to use himself as bait in his trap. But he would never declare himself defenseless if he feared any attack you might make._

The Force snaps me into motion, even as Luke whirls and his saber hilt flies to his hand. Our blades bloom in unison, and as his sweeps towards my Master, mine flashes up to block it. We strive against each other, eyes and blades locked, and the crackle of our sabers' battling energy fields mixes with my Master's delighted laughter.

He twists away and I pursue, our sabers beating out a staccato rhythm. His skills have improved since last we met. We circle each other, trading blows, my Master watching from his throne.

Without warning Luke's foot lashes out, catching me just above the knee-joints of my prosthetic legs, sending me flying backwards with a startled grunt down the stairs I hadn't realized were behind me. I twist my fall into a flip, but I am unable to recover completely, and I land off balance, sprawling heavily sideways, catching myself with my hand. Luke looks down at me, his expression unreadable.

"Good!" My Master's voice rings through the chamber. "Use your aggressive feelings, boy. Let the hate flow through you." Luke turns to him, and I feel him struggle to shake off the rage of battle. The Dark Side crowds around him like storm clouds, and I marvel at his strength as he pushes them away. He looks back at me, and the turmoil within him stills, until he is once again calm. He allows his saber blade to shrink to nothingness, and faces me, compassion in his eyes.

_Your Master would be proud of you, if he could see you now._ "Obi-Wan has taught you well."

I hear my own words as if from a distance, and I realize with a flash of revelation the truth of my feelings. I do not want Luke to turn to the Dark Side. I love too much the bright shining Light that surrounds and fills him, and the thought of that flame extinguished, replaced by the inky blackness of the Dark, catches at my heart with a sharp pang of grief. All along, without consciously acknowledging it, I have been hoping for Luke to prevail in his struggle again my Master and his own anger.

That was why I moved so quickly, to block his blow against my Master. For once, duty to my Master and my heart's secret desire flowed in harmony. I could not let Luke succeed in committing murder, and thus fall to the Dark.

His eyes are locked on mine. Love burns there, undimmed by my refusal of it. "I will not fight you, Father."

I pace toward him and begin to make my way slowly up the stairs, mind working furiously. He is not powerful enough, no matter how strongly the Force is with him, to defeat my Master. If he continues to cling stubbornly to the Light, eventually my Master will acknowledge the impossibility of turning him. Then Luke will be lost, for my Master will not hesitate to kill him. Only if he turns to the Dark can he live.

I am a Lord of the Sith. I have no business loving the Light, no matter how much it matters to my son. My responsibility as Luke's father is to save his life, if I can. I know him, far better than my Master does. I know what motivates him, how his mind works. I must put aside foolish sentimentality, and commit myself with an undivided heart to turning Luke to the Dark. I must crush the weakness within me that mourns the death of dreams.

He steps back, wary, as I draw level with him. I draw a deep breath, steeling myself. I must hold nothing back in this battle. He is strong enough to defend himself against any attack I might make, and only if he feels truly threatened will he fight back.

Still, I can give him warning. "You are unwise to lower your defenses!" I strike as I finish speaking, and his saber is there, blocking mine. He fights defensively, catching my saber and holding it down, refusing to strike back at me, only blocking my blows as I rain them upon him. Despite my resolve, I cannot quite bring myself to strike with true killing force, lest his defense falter. He backs away, seeking an escape.

Suddenly he leaps into the center of a circle of displays, where I cannot reach him, then flips up and back, onto a catwalk that runs along the back of the room.

He looks down at me with his probing glance, and I know my mind is laid bare before him. "Your thought betray you, Father. I feel the good in you, the conflict."

I must provoke him to fear me, hate me, or hope is lost. "There is no conflict."

He understands me far too well. "You couldn't bring yourself to kill me before, and I don't believe you'll destroy me now." I can feel him reaching out, trying to draw my secret love for him into the open.

My anger flares at him. _Foolish boy, I'm trying to save your life._ I gauge the distance up to where he stands. "You underestimate the power of the Dark Side." _Right now it is your only hope._ I thumb the switch on my lightsaber's hilt, locking the blade on. "If you will not fight, then you will meet your destiny."

I hurl my saber straight at him, hoping desperately that he has learned something about dodging and deflecting flying objects since our battle in Cloud City. He twists aside and the scarlet beam misses him, slicing instead through one of the supports of the catwalk.

One end of the structure tears loose with a scream of rending metal and falls with a deafening crash, and Luke is thrown off his feet, sliding down the steep ramp the catwalk has become, down out of my sight to the room's lower level.

My Master's laughter echoes around me. "Good, good!"

I dare not look at him lest he read my true purpose. He thinks my actions have proved I am wholly his creature, with no feelings left for Luke at all.

I pace down the stairs, calling my fallen blade back to my hand. Luke has retreated into hiding, somewhere down there. I cannot sense exactly where he is, though I can feel he is unhurt.

I seek for him with all my senses. "You cannot hide forever, Luke."

His voice is muffled, but determined. "I will not fight you."

I have to reach him, somehow. What do I know of him? What does he care about, what does he fear? What can I use to provoke him?

Of course. His friends. Solo, and the Princess. The only fear I've felt from him has been for their sakes. Not just for their deaths. He has already made his peace with that, I think. But for the failure of their mission, for their pain and suffering, or even for… I reach for him, probing deep into his mind. My breath quickens. He is hiding something from me, something infinitely precious to him, something he fears above all else I will discover.

I press my advantage, knowing I am on the right track, that I have found his vulnerability. "Give yourself to the Dark Side. It is the only way you can save your friends." I feel his distress, sharp and panicky, through our bond. He withdraws from me, and again I sense concealment. I home in on it unerringly, pushing into his mind, stripping away layers of resistance. His fear and anger boils up, and I know I am close, now.

"Yes. Your thoughts betray you. Your feelings for them are strong, especially for…." The face of the Princess is there in his mind. He feels a deep love for her, far more than any casual friendship, but it is not romantic in nature, more the protective love a brother would feel for his…

" _Sister!_ "

I reel, thunderstruck by my discovery. Twins? You were carrying twins, Padmé? I have a daughter, too?

_Leia_ is my daughter? It was never any secret that Bail Organa's daughter was adopted, but how could I ever have dreamed… That fiery, infuriating slip of a girl, who has defied me so many times? How did I never see that she is so very much like me?

I held her in my arms, once, as we watched her homeworld shatter into rubble and dust.

No wonder Luke is so afraid. She is far more open to the Dark Side than he is. I remember her fumbling attempt to strike at me. That is what Luke fears above all, that I will find her, and seek to turn her, and succeed…

I wrench my mind back to my task. I have found the key to the darkness within Luke. Now all that remains is to use it.

"So… you have a twin sister. Your feelings have now betrayed her, too." I feel his frantic denial. He is very close to losing control, now. "Obi-Wan was wise to hide her from me." What happened, Obi-Wan, after you took Padmé from Mustafar? If I had had any idea my children had survived… Did you think I could possibly harm them? What gave you the right to keep them from me? Were you that afraid of what they would become, if I had raised them to know the Dark Side of the Force? "Now his failure is complete."

I grip my lightsaber tightly, anticipating Luke's reaction to my next words. "If you will not turn to the Dark Side…" Even as I speak I realize the truth of what I am saying. If Luke is killed, all is not lost. I will still have a child, one far more suited to my purpose than Luke ever was. I can find her, capture her, tell her the truth. I could not break her before, but that was before I knew her vulnerability. She will join me, and together we will overthrow my Master, and rule the galaxy as father and daughter. Lost in my vision, my voice is triumphant as I finish. "…then perhaps she will!"

His attack takes me by surprise after all. With an inarticulate cry of denial, he springs out behind me from his hiding place and thrusts his saber at me with deadly intent. I block it barely in time, and he swings wildly at me, again and again. He has shed all traces of Jedi discipline, and opened himself fully to his rage. I block his blows, retreating before him, watching in horrified fascination as the Dark Side moves in and overwhelms him. He welcomes it, and uses it against me, his blows striking with more power than ever before. It burns in his eyes.

_Oh, my son. Oh, Luke. Your ship has strayed over the event horizon of the black hole of the Dark, from which even the brightest light cannot escape._

I should feel triumph, but all I feel is overpowering grief. I stumble in my retreat. We have fought our way to the walkway in front of the lift. On either side of us railings block a deep drop, open all the way down to the reactor core at the heart of the station. I recover, but his blows hammer at me, and again I stagger and fall back. All I can do is hold my saber above me in defense. He pounds against it, one, two, three times, then my arm is knocked wide, and I feel his fierce exultation as he brings his saber slicing down, through my right wrist.

The sensation as the electronic nerves are severed is not pain, exactly, but it is horrible, and I cry out. My prosthetic hand, lightsaber hilt still clutched in its grasp, flies out in a graceful arc and is lost in the depths.

My very first prosthesis, replacing the arm I lost to Dooku. I remember showing it, shyly and proudly, to Padmé. I remember showing off to her its strength and dexterity. I remember how she touched it, gently and lovingly, and then held me while I sobbed out the grief of my loss. _I will never be whole again…_

It saved my life, that day on Mustafar, when all my other limbs were lost, dragging me up away from the molten fire that consumed me.

I cower before him, raising my left hand to fend off his blade as it lowers to point at my chest. His face blazes with hatred, yet he pauses, and we both pant, staring at each other.

My Master's laugh rings out, as he makes his way down the stairs toward us. "Good!" He lowers his voice to a seductive whisper. "Your hate has made you powerful." Luke turns to look at him, his saber never wavering. My Master's voice rises to a triumphant growl. "Now, fulfill your destiny, and take your father's place at my side."

I close my eyes. I have succeeded. Luke has turned to the Dark Side, and there can be no turning back. I am the defeated apprentice this time, and he will kill me, as I killed Dooku. He will live, to serve my Master and the Empire far better than I ever could. I try to be glad, but my victory tastes like ashes in my mouth. His light was so very bright, and now it is gone. I wait, terrified but resigned, for the killing blow.

When it does not come, I open my eyes. Luke is staring at his right hand, which I know must be a prosthesis under its black glove. He opens and closes it, and I hear the faint, familiar whir and click of servomotors.

_Yes, I took it from you, Luke. I'm sorry. Take your revenge now, as I took mine against Dooku. It is your right._

His lightsaber trembles. He pants, staring down at me.

Then, unbelieving, I see his eyes clear, and love once again shines at me from them. And something else. Trust. Faith. He extinguishes his blade, and turns to face my Master.

"Never." He straightens, gazing up defiantly. With a flick of his wrist he casts his saber aside, and it skitters across the floor and rolls to a stop far across the room. Unarmed, defenseless, he faces my Master, and the light of the Force blazes up so brightly around him I am nearly blinded. "I'll never turn to the Dark Side." His voice glows with certainty and pride. "You've failed, Your Highness. I am a Jedi, like my father before me." He nods back to where I lie, helpless.

_Yes, I was a Jedi, once. But never like you, Luke. I am not worthy to be called your father._

My Master studies him calculatingly. Slowly, an expression of grudging respect spreads across his face. "So be it." His mouth twists into a grimace. "Jedi." He lifts his hands toward Luke. "If you will not be turned, you will be destroyed." He twitches his fingers, and blue lightning streaks from them, wreathing Luke, slamming him down sideways. Luke cries out in pain.

_No!_ It is my dream. Like my mother, like Padmé, Luke will die. I struggle to my feet.

My Master pauses his attack, regarding Luke with cold pity. "Young fool. Only now, at the end, do you understand." Again he sends lightning lancing across the space between them, a short burst, then long. He intends to torture Luke before he kills him. As punishment for his defiance, and for the pure pleasure of watching him suffer.

I move to stand at my Master's side. I feel every bolt that strikes Luke as a river of fire in my own body.

Gloating, my Master moves closer to Luke. "Your feeble skills are no match for the power of the Dark Side." Again and again the lightning strikes, and Luke writhes in pain.

I feel paralyzed. I cannot just stand here and watch him kill my son. But I can do nothing to stop him.

"You have paid the price for your lack of vision." My Master's attention is focused wholly on Luke. I step closer to him. I stand at his right hand, his trusted apprentice. All I need to do is reach out…

No! I am sworn to his service, to the service of the Dark. He trusts me. It would be wrong to betray him.

I broke my oath to the Jedi, and betrayed them to their deaths, to save Padmé. Can I do less for our son?

Luke is sprawled on the floor. His body twists in agony, anguished cries forcing their way past clenched teeth. He reaches his hand out toward me. "Father, please!" His words burn like a lightsaber thrust through my heart. "Help me!"

I must help him. I must.

No, I can't! Helpless panic turns my bones to water. I can't. I _can't!_

Why?

To act now, to turn away from the Dark, would be to declare that my first choice was wrong. And it was not wrong! I had to turn to the Dark, to save Padmé's life. It was worth it. It was the right choice.

Wasn't it?

The lightning stops, and my Master surveys his handiwork with an air of satisfaction. Smoke rises from Luke's body, and I cannot tell if it is only his clothes or if his flesh, too, is burning. "Now, young Skywalker, you will die." He smiles, slow and sinister, and raises his hands again.

I stare down at Luke, then up at my Master, as his face twists into an expression of unholy joy. He drinks in Luke's pain, and it enraptures him.

I cannot look away from his face. This is the Dark Side. All the Sith philosophies about how the Dark is not evil, but only a different road to power, are nothing but sophistry. This is pure evil, and it is the heart and center of the Dark Side of the Force. This is what I swore to serve.

This is what I've become.

Luke's struggles are becoming weaker. Time is running out. I must make my choice.

I gasp for breath. Everything in me fights against the knowledge I know I must admit.

I should have let her die.

I should have. Better that than to help _this_ gain power.

The full sickening realization of what I have done crashes over me. Screams fill my ears. Terrified faces loom up before my eyes. My hands run scarlet with blood.

Surely I am damned to the deepest pit of hell for my crimes. It is far, far too late for me.

But it is not too late for Luke.

I feel the Dark Side surrounding me, filling me, sapping my will, holding me powerless. I struggle against it, but it enwraps me like strands of snare-spider silk. I fight with all my strength to break free of it, but I am drowning beneath its smothering black waves. Luke broke free of it, but I am not as strong as he is. I have lived beneath its shadow too long.

I reach far back into the depths of my past, and remember what it feels like to draw upon the Light Side of the Force. Will it answer my call, befouled as I am with blood?

Their faces swim into focus in my heart. The ones I loved. The ones I killed.

I have no right to call on them, after my betrayal. But they loved Luke too. For his sake, will they come to my aid?

I reach out, blind and groping, through the bars of my prison. Iron and stone, metal and plastic, they surround me, but I find a crack. The Light is there. I open myself, and surrender to its embrace.

_Obi-Wan. Padmé. Help me._

The Force surges through me, vivid and bright and powerful, ripping away the clinging strands of the Dark. I turn and seize the man beside me, who is my Master no more. My left hand grasps him, and the stump of my right supports him, but it is the Force, far more than my muscles or servomotors, that lifts him high above my head.

He cries out, in astonishment and anger, and the lightning leaves Luke as he directs it against me. Flame sears every nerve in my body with white-hot pain. The circuitry in my prostheses melts and disintegrates, until only the Force flowing through me keeps my legs moving and my arms raised. He pours its full killing power into me, as he had not yet done to Luke.

_I will not survive this._

For a moment fear seizes me, but the Light washes it away.

_So be it._

I stagger over to the walkway railing. A final blast of pure Dark Side power consumes me as I cast him over the edge. He falls down, down, screaming with rage all the way, until I feel his life extinguished in the fires of the reactor core.

* * *

I lie where I have fallen, fighting to breathe. My mask must be damaged, for the familiar rasp is strained and ragged in my ears. But it still provides enough oxygen, barely. My body is limp and weak, and my prostheses are dead weights attached to my stumps.

Luke crawls to my side, and pulls me back from the edge. He cradles me in his arms, looking down at me anxiously.

For the first time I can look back at him with the full force of my love, unhidden and unashamed. _I saved you, Luke._ I feel light, as if a great burden has been lifted from me.

"Father," he murmurs. "Father?" I manage a nod. He reaches down to clasp my hand, though I cannot feel it. Tentatively he opens his mind to me, and I sense his rapt wonder.

Suddenly a great impact shakes the station. Luke snaps his gaze up towards the window. He lays me back gently, then clambers to his feet. At first he pauses, breathing heavily, then reaches out and calls his discarded lightsaber back to his hand and clips it to his belt. He seems to have taken no lasting harm from the lightning that coursed through his body. His first few steps are shaky, but by the time he reaches the top of the stairs he has steadied. For a few moments he studies the pattern of the battle outside, then returns down the stairs with a new urgency in his step, elated but worried.

"We have to get out of here." He looks down at my unmoving form, then over at the lift, and goes to work the controls that will open it. "The shield is down. Lando will be taking the strike force in. We haven't got much time." The lift doors slide open. Luke crouches behind me and grabs me under the arms, dragging me into the lift. I struggle to help him, but my prostheses do not respond at all, and I am acutely aware of how helpless I am without them. With a heave he props me up against the back wall, then moves to study the controls, frowning.

I struggle for enough breath to force the words out. "Docking bay thirty-six. My shuttle." I whisper the code that will take the lift there.

Luke glances at me, concerned, then bends to punch in the code. He returns to my side and crouches next to me. "I'm sure we'll have enough time to get away. Are you all right, Father?"

I nod, but I know I am not all right, not in the way he's asking. I know what dying feels like. Once before I was wounded mortally, and only Sidious's dark powers kept life pinned in my body until it could heal. Now I can feel the ravages of his power all through my internal organs. And more than that. In his last violent rage he reached deep within me and crushed some indefinable essence, the will to go on living. I recognize it, for I used that power once. Against Padmé. I can cling to life for a while longer, as she must have until she could give birth to the twins, but it is ebbing inexorably away.

I face the certainty of my own death, and I am not afraid. _So this is what it feels like, Luke._ I wonder if calm serenity shines on my face.

I will hold on as long as I am able, though. I have only just found Luke, and now our time together must be far too brief. And I would like to see Leia, if I can. Bittersweet grief floods me, for lost years and lost opportunities.

The lift grinds to a halt as another explosion rocks the station. Luke kneels beside me and slings my arm over his shoulder. He heaves me up, and we both draw on the Force to steady ourselves. I manage to bear a little of my weight on my frozen prostheses. The door whooshes open, and we stagger out into the corridor.

Uniformed men and stormtroopers race through the station in frantic chaos. Warning klaxons sound. Distant explosions shudder the deck under our feet and threaten our already unstable balance.

An officer hurrying past us halts in amazement. "Lord _Vader_? What…? Do you…?"

I feel Luke's instinctive urge to reach for his lightsaber, but he hesitates, unable to fight while supporting me, but unwilling to let me fall. "Wait," I murmur. "Let me handle him."

Drawing myself up as best I can, I fix the officer with a cold stare and weight my words with all the menace twenty-five years of ruthless command has earned me. "Return to your duties immediately."

He snaps to attention. "Yes, sir." His steps are satisfyingly swift as he continues down the corridor, but as he passes he shoots us a baffled sidelong glance.

I sag back against Luke, and he turns to look at me, the hesitant beginnings of a smile twitching at his lips. I smile back, and though he can't see it he must feel it, for his smile widens and his eyes glow with humor before he bends again to his task.

The corridors I strode through in a few unthinking minutes earlier today stretch long and arduous before us, and by the time our slow, laborious progress brings us near the shuttle bay we are both exhausted. The floors quake under us as the station is bombarded by a constant barrage of Rebel fire. Try as I might to focus on our goal, my mind wanders and lapses into fuzzy semi-consciousness. I force myself to concentrate, but it happens more and more as we stagger on. I am only hazily aware when we enter the docking bay. The shock of my body crashing to the ground jerks me back fully awake, and I realize Luke has fallen. With a thrill of sorrow I understand that my life is almost gone. I will not make it off the station. If I wish to say anything to Luke before I die, it must be now.

Suddenly an overwhelming sense of confinement closes in on me. I don't want to die sealed inside this suit. I don't want this mask to be a barrier forever between my son and I.

I suck in deep breaths of oxygen-rich air in preparation. Luke drags me by my arms up to the ramp of the shuttle, then stumbles and falls, looking up the steep angle of the ramp in weary hopelessness. Then he glances back at me, his mouth sets in determination, and he bends again to lift me.

"Luke." My eyes burn, and love and grief choke my throat. "Help me take this mask off."

He doesn't understand yet. "But you'll die."

As gently as possible I tell him the truth. "Nothing can stop that now." I long to reach up and claw the mask from my own face, but I can't. I must have his help. "Just for once, let me look on you with my own eyes." It has been many years since I even noticed the slight distortion and red tint my protective filters give to everything I see, but now I am achingly aware that neither of us has ever seen the other's face as it truly is.

He looks searchingly at me for a long moment, then nods his assent. His hands move unerringly to the fastenings of my helmet as I share the knowledge of how to proceed through the Force. He lifts it carefully and sets it aside, then I draw a deep breath before his hands raise the mask from my face.

What does he see, looking at me? I don't want to think how terrible my face must appear. I have never looked at it in any mirror since Mustafar; only occasionally I have caught a glimpse of my reflection on the backs of my lenses as my mask descends into place. I know it is crossed with long-healed scars and as pallid as some cave-creature from lack of light.

But there is no horror in Luke's eyes as they look into mine for the first time, only wonder. This is who I really am, Luke, behind the intimidating black façade. Weak and broken and all too fallible. But I have loved you more than you will ever understand, and I am so glad I've had the chance to know you, if only for such a little while. I wish I could have come to know Leia as more than an enemy. There is so much I wish I could give the two of you, so much I owed you as your father that I will never be able to make up for.

And yet, I have given you something. The one thing Leia would have wished for above all else. The Emperor is dead. Without him the Empire will crumble, and the Rebellion will triumph.

And for you, Luke, the Sith are destroyed. Both the master, and very soon now, the apprentice. Never again will their darkness cloud the Force.

Everything Palpatine set in motion, and I helped him accomplish, I have now brought to an end. I have given you hope for a new beginning. You will renew the Jedi Order, Luke, and Leia will rebuild the Republic. Your future will be bright, my children. The galaxy is in good hands.

The unfiltered glare stings my eyes, and my lungs cry out for oxygen, but I could ignore these discomforts forever to gaze on Luke's face. But he must get to safety soon, before his friends succeed in destroying the station.

My voice is faint and breathy without the amplification and deepening my mask's vocoder provided. "Now go, my son. Leave me." He can be away in moments without the burden of my helpless body to slow him.

He shakes his head in denial, unwilling to give up hope. "No. You're coming with me." His young, eager face shines with passion. "I'll not leave you here. I've got to save you."

Oh, Luke. You are so very much my son. Don't ever feel that you've failed me, just because my body dies. "You already have, Luke." You have saved me. I was lost in the Darkness, and you gambled your life to bring me back to the Light. How did you know, when you put your life into my hands, that love still lived in me? _I know there is good in you,_ you said. I scoffed at the idea, but you knew me better than I knew myself. "You were right. You were right about me. Tell… your sister… you were right…"

My voice trails away to silence as my lungs run out of air. I smile at him, proud and sad and loving. He is speaking, but I cannot hear him, for soft blue clouds are enfolding me, promising rest, and comfort, sleep without pain or fear or nightmares. _Farewell, Luke_. I close my eyes and relax, and though I know I am dying I truly feel no fear. I am able, at last, to unclench the hands that have held so tight to life and to love, and open them, and…

Let go.

* * *

" _Anakin_."

The voice slips into my mind, gently calling me back to wakefulness. I have been sleeping, the deepest, most restful sleep I have ever known. I float between dream and daybreak, not thinking, not remembering, just feeling with crystal clarity the perfect peace of the eternal now.

The voice comes again, patiently insistent. "Anakin."

Anakin. The name of my true self, that is truly mine again.

I know that voice. The memories swim softly into my awareness. Master. Friend. Brother. I savor its beloved familiarity. Then, as the veils of dream withdraw further, the other memories surface, muted at first, but rapidly sharpening as I come fully awake. Betrayal. Combat. Death. Conflicting emotions rise up within me, sweeping away the peace of sleep.

"Obi-Wan?"

I open my eyes, and there, where Luke's face was a moment – an eternity? – ago, is his face.

Obi-Wan smiles at me, and through his customary reserve shines joy so pure and radiant I catch my breath. "Welcome home, Anakin."

I look at him in confusion. "But… you died." _I killed you_. " _I_ died…"

At my other side a small green figure steps forward into my view, inclining his head to gaze at me with the calm inscrutability I remember so well. He speaks in the gently lecturing tone I remember him using with younglings slow to grasp a basic concept. "One with the Force, he is. As am I."

Obi-Wan's voice is gentle. "And you are one with the Force now, too, Anakin."

I stare at them, unbelieving. As understanding slowly sinks in, wonder dawns in my heart. _There is existence beyond death, and I am experiencing it._ But the joy of that realization is quickly overtaken and submerged beneath the rising tide of memory. Death, darkness, blood… my hands run red with it. I feel the impact of my lightsaber piercing flesh, a hundred, a thousand times over. I feel the crunch of a throat collapsing within my fist, again and again. I hear my voice giving orders of destruction. I see the wide, terrified eyes of children, and hear their screams, that I will never be able to blind or deafen myself to again. I close my eyes to shut out Obi-Wan's compassionate gaze, for I do not deserve his compassion. My guilt and shame overwhelm me, and I sink beneath the weight of despair.

"I don't belong here," I whisper. "Not after what I've done."

"We know, Anakin." I open my eyes and look into Obi-Wan's. Pain is there, a mirror of my own. He reaches out and lays his hand on mine. "We know all the evil you've done. But you have turned from the Dark, back to the Light."

"Accepted you, the Force has." Yoda regards me steadily.

I look down at Obi-Wan's hand on mine, and I realize with shock that I have a hand, two hands, whole and unblemished, warm living flesh. I struggle to sit up, and my body moves easily, both arms and both legs sound and responsive. Obi-Wan's hand is strong and supportive in mine as I climb to my feet. I am breathing freely, without pain. I look down at myself. I am clad in the robes of a Jedi, soft brown and cream like Obi-Wan's, not the deeper shades I always favored. My hands go to my face, and my skin is smooth and unscarred, my hair soft and thick as I run my fingers through it.

Pleasure as sharp as pain fills me, but I recoil from it in horror, for I know it is utterly wrong that I should be rewarded so, when an eternity of suffering would be simple justice. I stare wildly back and forth between Yoda and Obi-Wan. "No." My voice rises, as my longing battles with my shame. "There must be some mistake. Why am I here? I don't deserve this!"

"Deserving matters not." I feel a sharp prod in my gut, and look down to see Yoda poking me with his gimer stick. " _Somewhere_ your life's energy must go. To join with the Dark Side, and strengthen it, do you want?"

"No…" I looked into the depths of the Dark Side, and rejected it, though it cost me my life. The thought of being swallowed up by it again both repulses and terrifies me. Everything in me longs to be a part of the Light I feel surrounding me. "But you can't tell me what I've done doesn't _matter_. That it can just be ignored. Forgotten." _I_ can't forget. I will never be able to forget.

"No." Yoda hobbles around me, looking at me appraisingly. "Forgotten your deeds cannot be. _Forgiven_ … perhaps. Sacrificed your life, you have. A small thing, that is not."

That's true. I did. Hope stirs within me.

"And you destroyed Palpatine." Obi-Wan's voice is tinged with awestruck wonder. "How could any of us ever have dreamed _this_ was how the prophecy would be fulfilled?"

I stare at him stupidly. "The prophecy?"

"Of the Chosen One." He leans toward me, as if sharing some marvelous secret. "Do you not feel it? The Force is in balance."

I look around, but it is hard to focus on anything but our living presences. The most I can make out are swirling blue clouds surrounding us. I close my eyes and reach out through my sense of the Force, and gasp. It is as if the whole universe resonates with profound harmony. What had been harsh and discordant is now resolved into one magnificent chord. The Dark is not gone, but it is returned to its proper place. The velvet blackness of space between the stars, that cradles, not consumes them. The shadow that does not smother the candle, but makes its light burn brighter.

This is what the older Jedi meant, when they spoke of the clarity of the Force in their youth, and how now it was clouded by the Dark Side. This is what the Force should be, as I have never known it. All my life I have been looking at it through distorting red lenses, and now at last I see it clear.

"I did that? But how…"

"Palpatine – Sidious – was the focus of the Dark Side's power. He had fed it, and channeled it, and caused it to swell out of proportion, until it came to dominate the galaxy. When you killed him, that distortion came to an end." Obi-Wan regards me gravely.

But I still do not understand. "But I helped him. I helped him come to power. I served the Dark, for twenty-five years."

Yoda nods. "Only by one he trusted could he be defeated. Too powerful was he ever to be beaten by one he knew to be an enemy. I could not. You could not. If fallen you had not, perhaps for ten thousand years the Sith would have reigned."

Is he saying the Force meant for me to turn to the Dark? That there was a reason for it, a purpose? I rebel at the idea, for no good could justify the crimes I have committed. And yet it is true Palpatine planned for the rule of the Sith to continue at least ten thousand years. He often spoke of it. How much more horror could he, and I, and those who came after us have done in that time? He would not have been satisfied until the last glimmers of Light in the galaxy were extinguished.

Perhaps I am not an utter failure after all. Perhaps I am more than just the traitor and murderer and criminal I know myself to be. If my whole life was shaped to lead up to that one crucial moment, then I did not fail, for in that moment I did, at long last, make the right choice.

But I still don't know if what Yoda says is true. Perhaps I will never know.

A new figure steps forward from the swirling blue clouds. "Ten years before I encountered a little boy in a junk shop on Tatooine, Palpatine was first elected to the Senate from Naboo. You were the Force's answer to his ascent to power."

I blink, astonished, at him. "Master Qui-Gon?"

He smiles warmly at me, and greets me with an affectionate embrace. "I always believed in you, Anakin. I never stopped believing in you."

Obi-Wan looks from his former Master to me. "Can you forgive me, Anakin, that I did stop believing in you? I was wrong."

Yoda bows his head. "And I, for never believing in you at all. Wrong I was."

I look at these three Jedi, who have taught me so much, and whom I betrayed so completely, and tears start in my eyes, that have been dry for so long. How can I accept their acceptance? I hang my head in shame. "Yes. Of course. But you weren't wrong. There was no reason for anyone to believe I would ever be anything but evil. I could never have turned back, if it weren't for Luke."

Obi-Wan smiles in tender pride. "Yes, your son is quite a remarkable young man, isn't he, Anakin?"

Impulsively I grasp his hands in mine. "Thank you, Master, for taking care of him for me. Both of them. I guess it was best, after all, that I didn't know about them." My throat is tight with grief and regret.

He knows how much it cost me to make that admission. "When they were born, Anakin, we thought you were dead. We had to hide them from Palpatine. Later, when we found out you lived… well, we thought it was still best to keep them hidden."

"Yes." I bow my head. Then I look up at him again, sincere admiration in my voice. "You trained him well, Master. I hope he was a more cooperative student than I was."

"You'll have to ask Yoda about that. I taught him his first lesson, but after that it was Yoda who trained him."

Yoda looks at me sternly. "Much like you he is. Strong in the Force, but impatient, reckless, stubborn, headstrong. Listen to my most important lesson, he would not. Tried to tell him I did, once down the Dark path you start, forever will it dominate your destiny." I shrink before his piercing gaze, but then his face relaxes into a smile. "Wiser than I, he proved. Fortunate we all are, heed me he did not."

Warm chuckles from Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan cover my silence until I am able to blink away tears and swallow the obstruction in my throat. Then hesitantly, softly, I laugh, too. How many years has it been since I last laughed?

A mischievous twinkle lurks in Obi-Wan's eyes. "I must admit, though, I was surprised when he managed to get the better of you in your duel. I think your lightsaber technique might be slipping."

I blink at him for a moment, before the pattern of our affectionate banter comes back to me. "I was distracted, Master."

"Yes, well, I guess I can no longer say that I'm the only one who could defeat you in a lightsaber battle."

I draw in my breath, feeling his saber blade bite into my flesh. I can hardly blame him if he wishes his words to hurt me, after all I've done to him. But no, I can see the plea in his eyes, and suddenly I know how he wants me to respond.

"Actually, Master," and I am surprised how well I am able to keep my tone light, "if I recall correctly, last time we met, I defeated you."

His smile rewards me. "Only because I let you win."

I grin back, and something inside me that has been tense for far too long relaxes. "But you only let me because I had the upper hand already."

"Nonsense–"

Qui-Gon throws up his hands. "Boys, you can argue later about who's better with a lightsaber. For all eternity, if you're so inclined. But right now, let's give Anakin a chance to get used to the transition. It is rather a shock, and he wasn't prepared for it the way you two were." He turns to me. "Anakin, you do belong here, with us, forever. Can you accept that?"

This is my only punishment, then, to exist eternally with the knowledge of my guilt, and it is both mercy beyond my wildest hopes and cruelty beyond my most brutal imagination. I bow my head. "Yes." I raise my eyes to look again at Qui-Gon. "I only wish there was something I could do, to make up in some way for all the harm I've caused. How can I ever pay for what I've done?"

Qui-Gon smiles approvingly, as if I have passed some test. "Ah. There is something you can do."

"Much work there is to be done." Yoda prods me again with his stick.

Qui-Gon nods. "We three have learned to hold ourselves back from full oneness with the Force, that we may continue to interact with the living world, and serve the Force in many ways not possible for anyone else. That path is open to you, if you choose it."

"Not all the hurts you have caused can be healed, but some can." Obi-Wan's warm eyes catch mine. "We can show you how, if that's what you want."

"Oh, yes." I will gladly serve the Light for all eternity, if by that I can ameliorate, even a little, the wrongs I have done. I consider that future, and the pain of memory eases. I am content.

"Come, then." Obi-Wan steps aside, and gestures beyond, deeper into the vivid blue reaches of the Force. "We have much to do. But there are others who are waiting to meet with you, before we begin."

Others? I look into the blue depths, and I know my pain and my joy have only begun. I walk forward, though my journey is not through physical space. Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon and Yoda follow.

There, ahead of me, I see her. She is not battered and bruised, as when I last saw her, but more fresh and radiant than I ever remember her being, even when I was a very small child. I am that child again, and I run towards her, into her welcoming embrace. "Mom!"

Her arms enfold me, and I feel indescribable comfort. Her tears wet my hair. "What a long and terrible road you've had to walk, my Ani. But you came back to us. I'm so proud of you."

"I'm so sorry, Mom." My voice chokes with all I would apologize for. For not saving her life, and for allowing her death to push me for the first time into the Darkness.

"Shh." She kisses my brow, and my pain is soothed as quickly and completely as her kiss could always sooth away the pain of a scrape or bruise. "It's all right."

And it is all right, and the grief of her death slips away from me into peace. _It is not so terrible a thing, is it Mom, to die in your son's arms, looking one last time into his face?_

I rest in her embrace a moment more, then she steps back, an anticipatory smile lighting her eyes. "There's someone else who's been waiting a very long time for you." She gestures beyond, inviting me to take the step that will carry me there.

I know who she must mean, and I am frozen between dread and a terrible, aching longing. How can I face her, who I love the most and have wronged the most grievously? But how can I not? Shaking, drawing strength from the presences behind and beside me, I step through the shimmering clouds, deeper into the Force, and she is there.

She is as radiantly beautiful as the first time I saw her, and knew the dusty, sweaty angel before me as the love of my life. As solemn and joyous as when we exchanged our wedding vows. As lit from within by secret wonder as the day she told me she was pregnant with my child. Children.

Her hand steals upward toward her heart, and her fingers caress a small ivory rectangle suspended around her neck. With a lurch I recognize it as the snippet of japoor that my childish hands once carved. I gave it to her to remember me by. I last saw it in a holo image, clutched in her cold, white hand, going down with her lifeless body into the darkness of her grave.

Suddenly I cannot bear to meet her gaze any longer, and I crumple to my knees before her, bowing my head, shaking with sobs. "Forgive me, Padmé." How can she ever forgive me?

She drops to her knees also, and enfolds me in her embrace, and her tears mingle with mine as she presses herself close to me. We mourn together for all that we have lost, and I savor the sweet warmth in my arms that I had thought was gone forever, until somehow we are laughing amid our tears. "Anakin," she whispers in my ear, over and over, and "Padmé," I murmur back, again and again. Neither of us can say anything else. But it is enough.

Eventually I draw back enough to rise, and draw her up with me. Our lips meet in a brief, fierce kiss. Then we draw apart, although I do not release her hand. I need never fear losing her again.

The beaming faces of my mother, and Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon surround us. Even Yoda has a tranquil smile for us. But beyond them the blue clouds swirl, and I know there is one more step I must take.

I squeeze Padmé's hand in mine, drawing all the strength I can from her warm touch. Then I release it, and once again I step forward.

A sea of faces meets my gaze, stretching before me, a vast multitude waiting for me. Among them I glimpse those I recognize. Master Windu is there, and other Jedi. I see the wrapped faces of Sandpeople, and the alien faces of Nute Gunray and the rest of the Separatist leaders. Even Ozzel and Needa and others of my former officers are there. And at their head is gathered a group of children, led by a small Jedi padawan whose name I never knew, but whose round face and wide eyes have haunted my sleep every night since the day I killed him.

These then are my victims. Horror and shame wash over me, at the sheer number of those gathered, and because there are so many I don't recognize, whose deaths were so insignificant to my Dark-drenched self that I never saw or remembered their faces.

I fall again to my knees, crying unashamed, because my tears of remorse are all I have to offer them. "Forgive me," I whisper, and the words are utterly inadequate to the magnitude of the wrong I have done them. But still, one by one, they step forward, and touch my hands or my shoulder or my head, and speak words of pardon and absolution. And with each touch and murmured word a broken place within me is healed.

Time is meaningless here, so I am not sure if moments or years have passed when finally the last of them steps away from me and fades back into the swirling clouds of the Force. Of all those I murdered, only Dooku was not among them. I would beg his forgiveness too, if I could, but he must have chosen to join forever with the Dark Side. Palpatine, too, must be there, but his death was no murder, for I acted in defense of another. I climb slowly to my feet, and turn again to where Padmé and the others wait. I take her hand again, and she smiles at me, and I know she understands just how much courage it took to face them.

Yoda steps forward, leaning heavily on his stick. "One thing more we must do." He gestures, and around us the shadowy form of the council chamber of the Jedi Temple takes shape. I stand in the center. The Masters take their places in the circle, and beyond them I can see more figures crowding close, rank upon rank of them encircling me, twenty-five thousand years worth of Jedi come to bear witness.

Padmé squeezes my hand and releases it, stepping back beside my mother. Yoda addresses me. "Anakin Skywalker, expelled from the Jedi Order you have been. Your oath to the Jedi you have broken, and fealty instead sworn to the Dark Side of the Force. Your wrongdoing do you acknowledge?"

I feel the gaze of thousands of eyes fixed on me. "I do."

"Your vow to the Sith do you renounce?"

I draw a deep breath, and pitch my voice to carry to all the gathered onlookers. "I renounce it."

"And would you your broken vow to the Jedi renew?"

I never dreamed I would be permitted this much. My voice shakes. "Yes."

"Kneel then, and your oath speak."

I sink to my knees, and speak the familiar words, as I spoke them the day my padawan braid was cut, and I first became a Jedi Knight. I know this time I will never be forsworn. "I pledge myself to the service of the Force, to uphold justice and work for peace, to defend the weak and help those in need. I swear never to use my powers for personal gain, and to strive at all times to live by the precepts of the Jedi Code."

At this point in the ceremony it is customary for all Jedi present to recite the Code together. As I begin, my voice is joined by that of the encircling Masters, and by all the assembled throng, every Jedi since the very beginning of the Order. Our mingled voices rise together, until they are a thunder that shakes the foundations of the universe.

"There is no emotion; there is peace.

"There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.

"There is no passion; there is serenity.

"There is no chaos; there is harmony.

"There is no death; there is the Force."

_There is no death_ …

Why was I ever afraid?

I am overwhelmed by joy so deep and rich I cannot comprehend it. I rise, and Padmé comes to take my hand, and the others circle me with words of congratulations.

Then Obi-Wan steps forward. "Do you think Luke would like to see you now?"

I long for my son to know the peace I have found, but I am puzzled. "Is that possible?"

Obi-Wan nods. "Yes. Qui-Gon was the first to discover the way, and he taught it to Yoda and me. We can manifest ourselves in the living world, and those trained in the Force can see us. We can show you how, if you wish."

I nod, and Yoda and Qui-Gon step up beside us. They look into the swirling blue before us, and I follow their gaze. Slowly the clouds clear away, and we are looking into a firelit clearing.

Luke stands, alone, watching the roaring inferno of a funeral pyre. I see with a start that it is my body that burns, along with the suit that was my prison for so many years.

_You weren't supposed to take the time to bring my body with you, Luke. I wanted you to hurry to get away. You even put my mask and helmet back on, to protect the privacy of my ravaged face, and so they, too, would be destroyed in the flames._

Overhead fireworks blossom in the sky, celebrating the Empire's downfall and the Rebellion's victory. Luke stands, dancing sparks reflected in his eyes, watching my lifeless husk blaze to ashes in the purifying fire. The entire galaxy rejoices. Only my son mourns.

Padmé's hand in mine trembles, and I know she has watched this way all along. Luke, and Leia. And me.

Our perspective shifts, and we are watching him walk back to the company of his friends, who reach out to comfort him. There is my daughter, with her beloved beside her. _Take care of her, Luke. Teach her to know the Light, and be wary of the Dark._ Luke draws apart from them a little, and looks out into the night.

Qui-Gon nods to me. "He doesn't know me, so I'll stay behind. But I will help you."

Padmé kisses my cheek, tears bright in her eyes though they do not fall. "I can't go; I'm not a Jedi. But give them my love."

First Obi-Wan, then Yoda, steps forward through an invisible curtain. Luke can see them, I know, lit by the soft blue glow of the Force. Yoda looks back, summoning me. Qui-Gon's mind shares the knowledge of how to proceed with me, and I too step forward, and stand beside them. Luke's eyes focus on me, and in them is recognition, and love, and a gentle grief.

Oh, Luke. You don't have to grieve for me. I am one with the Force, now and forever. I have found more joy than I ever thought possible. I am a Jedi again. You can rejoice for me, not mourn me, not miss me…

I stop, for I recognize in my thoughts the echo of words spoken long ago. That's what Yoda told me, when I sought counsel from him for my dreams of Padmé's death. Then I heard only empty platitudes, but now I understand the truth in what he was trying, in his own flawed way, to tell me.

This is what it is to be one with the Force, Luke. To be reunited with those I have loved. To find forgiveness for my wrongs. To be connected to the universe in a way I am only beginning to understand.

I reach out into the Force, and I can sense his presence, and Leia's, and that of every living thing surrounding us. My mind is drawn further, and deeper, and I feel the Force like a great flowing river, surrounding us, and penetrating us, binding the universe together. Life is born from it, and grows and multiplies and creates it, and sinks down into it again, over and over, in an endless cycling dance. And I am a part of that dance, for I am one with that river. Wherever it flows, I am there, and it flows everywhere. I am present here, and throughout this world, and every world, and in the space between them. I touch every star in the galaxy. In the universe.

Wherever you go, Luke, I will be there. Reach out and touch the Force, and you touch me. You will never be alone. And in due time you will become one with the Force too, and I will be here to welcome you, with your mother beside me.

I know somehow he understands me, for his face lights, and joy does shine there. We look into each other's eyes one long, last time.

Then Leia comes to him, and he smiles at her, and allows her to draw him back to the company of the ones he loves, who welcome him with warm arms and eyes. I watch, and with all my heart I give my children my love, my blessing, and my promise.

I _am_ the Force.

And I will be with you.

Always.

The End


End file.
